Amici Curiae
by Ladybug21
Summary: Two judges, 16 vignettes, and lots of constitutional law: In which Bartlet appointees Chief Justice Evelyn Baker Lang and Justice Christopher Mulready continue to be the fiercest of intellectual rivals and the closest of friends over the course of their years on the U.S. Supreme Court. Part Two of the Amendments series.
1. Each Senator Shall Have One Vote

Author's Note: Happy 2017, everyone!

Picking back up only a few weeks after the end of _Equal Justice_ , this series of vignettes focuses on moments in the lives of members on the Lang Court. As in my previous fics, the stories center on the relationship between Evelyn Baker Lang and Christopher Mulready, but also will encompass the goings-on of some of the other Justices (some canon to "The West Wing" and others products of my own imagination) and even occasional appearances from other figures from throughout the "West Wing" universe. Anyone you recognize from television is, obviously, property of Aaron Sorkin and the show's other creators.

Like in _Equal Justice_ , each of the vignettes in this series is based on, or loosely inspired by, a different amendment to the U.S. Constitution. However, while _Equal Justice_ followed the Bill of Rights sequentially, I'm not going to tackle the remaining sixteen amendments in order, mostly because it makes more narrative sense to shuffle them around (and besides, I've already extracted the Twelfth Amendment for other purposes). So I apologize in advance to anyone who finds this to be a somewhat distressing turn of events. I'm also not planning to write any more pseudo-opinions - _Drori_ was quite enough, thank you - but I still feel compelled to include my standard disclaimer that I have no formal legal training and thus ask your forgiveness for any less-than-sound legal reasoning or confusion over doctrines that I may not fully understand.

Lastly, a huge round of thanks to all of the kind people who have been so supportive of my excessive authorial enthusiasm for this fictional Supreme Court over the past two months, but especially to HarmonyLover for encouraging me to write a round of fics about the Lang Court in the first place, and also to Em2a for challenging me to stretch my imagination just a little bit further than it normally would have gone.

* * *

Amici Curiae

AMENDMENT XVII

 _Passed by Congress May 13, 1912. Ratified April 8, 1913._

 **Note:** Article I, section 3, of the Constitution was modified by the 17th amendment.

The Senate of the United States shall be composed of two Senators from each State, elected by the people thereof, for six years; and each Senator shall have one vote. The electors in each State shall have the qualifications requisite for electors of the most numerous branch of the State legislatures.

When vacancies happen in the representation of any State in the Senate, the executive authority of such State shall issue writs of election to fill such vacancies: Provided, That the legislature of any State may empower the executive thereof to make temporary appointments until the people fill the vacancies by election as the legislature may direct.

This amendment shall not be so construed as to affect the election or term of any Senator chosen before it becomes valid as part of the Constitution.

* * *

"They're voting."

"Oh, god," groaned Evie, covering her face with her hands. "Am I allowed to go hide in the bathroom until they're done? I feel nauseous just thinking about it."

"I mean, you can, if you really feel you must," said Charlotte Robeson from the doorway of Evie's office, "but wouldn't you rather watch the votes come in, yourself? I know I'd rather tell my grandkids one day that I sat next to the first female Chief Justice of the United States as the Senate confirmed her to that office; it makes for a much nicer story than that I sat and watched the Senate vote while the future first female Chief Justice teetered on the edge of a panic attack in the courthouse bathroom."

"I'm not teetering on the edge of a panic attack!" Evie lied emphatically, wishing that she could fool herself, let alone any of her colleagues on the Fourth Circuit.

"It's going to be fine, Evie. You absolutely blew your confirmation hearings out of the water, the way you had those Senators tripping over their own words and grasping frantically for their trains of thought. And you were voted out of the Judiciary Committee unanimously!"

"I'm pretty sure that that's only because Roland Pierce personally browbeat every member on the Committee who didn't want to support me." Evie sighed fretfully. "Jesus, this is nerve-wracking, Lottie. Are they almost done?"

"Not even close."

Evie muttered an oath under her breath.

"I don't suppose they've voted for Chris yet?"

"He's next," Lottie explained. "I suspect the minority leaders wanted your vote to be first so that they could immediately sabotage the vote on Mulready if things went south on yours. So, see? Even less reason to be anxious."

"I'm not sure about that," grumbled Evie, who sincerely hoped that the Senate would refrain from filibustering either nomination that day.

"Well, if you decide you can stomach your frayed nerves, we're all watching on C-SPAN in my office," Lottie informed her.

"Sounds good," Evie said, and then frowned. "Wait, who all are watching on C-SPAN in your office?"

"Your clerks," Lottie said. "And my clerks. And the support staff. And the people who work in the mailroom. And a few of the District Court judges, and both of the magistrate judges who are in today, and the Marshal, and..."

"OK, thanks, I get it," Evie interrupted.

Lottie crossed her arms and fixed Evie with a look of concerned exasperation.

"It's just because we're all so excited for you," she reminded Evie. "And I totally, totally understand why you're so on-edge about this whole deal, but seriously, Evie, it's going to be _fine_. I promise you that much. Just come make a brief appearance in a few minutes, so that we can all congratulate you properly?"

Evie's only response was a noncommittal noise, so Lottie rolled her eyes and left to go rejoin the viewing party. Evie, for her part, pulled a memorandum across her desk, clicked her pen open and closed several times in rapid succession, and then acknowledged to herself that she was far too worked up about the vote to even pretend to do anything substantive. Sighing in resignation, she slipped her shoes back on under her desk, grabbed a blazer from off her coat rack and her cell phone from off her desk, and headed down the hallway towards Lottie's office.

Just outside the door, Evie paused to steel herself emotionally, and in that moment, she overheard the presiding officer on the TV announce, "The votes are in, and the yeas have it by a total of 97 to zero. We will now commence the vote on the confirmation of Judge Christopher Mulready to the United States Supreme Court."

Evie had always laughed at those dream sequences in 1950s films, where the margins of the screen went blurry and the lighting was subjected to some unusual filter and everyone started moving in slow-motion. Even at her most romantic and whimsical, she was still a fairly practical person and thought that such special effects, although charming and quaint, were a rather overwrought means of implying infatuation or some other huge emotional upheaval. Yet that cinematic degree of surrealism seemed only too apt for a moment like this one: Time slowed precipitously. Motion dragged. Moments suspended themselves vividly in their own individual frames, rather than functioning along any sort of comprehensible continuity. As the presiding officer ended his statement with a sharp rap of his gavel, the whole office burst into cheers that seemed to reach Evie through a substance as dampening and distorting as water. Evie and Lottie's clerks were hugging each other; one of the magistrate judges gave her a thumbs up while the other threw her arms into the air triumphantly; a District Court judge was wiping furiously at his eyes with a crumpled napkin that one of the custodians had just handed him from her pocket.

Lottie, with a whoop of joy, threw her arms around Evie, who was still standing in the doorway in stunned silence, feeling as dazed as if she had just been hit in the face with a sledgehammer.

"Madam Chief Justice," she said gleefully, steering Evie into the room proper. "See, aren't you glad you were present to hear the announcement yourself?"

Evie sank slowly onto the couch in Lottie's office and glanced at the TV screen, where neatly-printed words announced: "Evelyn Baker Lang confirmed as Chief Justice of the United States (97-0)." And then she burst into tears, covering her face with her hands.

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry, everyone," she sobbed as everyone smiled kindly at her. "It's just a lot to process in one moment. Thanks," she added as one of the support staff shoved a pack of tissues into her hands. "And thank you all for being so incredibly supportive of me throughout all of this..."

Evie's cell phone suddenly began ringing, and when she glanced at the screen, it was evident that at least three different people were trying to reach her all at the same time.

"Go ahead," said Lottie gently, and Evie scrambled off the couch and back into the hallway to answer her phone.

"Hello?"

"Wow," said Bill, his voice brimming with pride. "It's not every day you get to excuse yourself from a meeting with a group of Italian nanoscientists because your wife has just been confirmed as Chief Justice. Congratulations, honey!"

"Thanks, Bill." Evie brushed some tears off of her cheeks. "I honestly never thought this would happen."

"No one ever _thinks_ that this sort of thing will happen, but it couldn't have happened to a more deserving person. I mean it. And you're going to be fantastic beyond belief on the bench."

"Not that you're a biased audience, or anything..."

"Well, the entire editorial board of the _New York Times_ agrees with me, as do all of our friends. So that counts for something, right?"

"You're sweet."

"Nah, just honest."

"Shoot," muttered Evie as her phone started buzzing again.

"Everything OK?" Bill asked as Evie glanced at the screen of her phone.

"Yeah, my mom's calling."

"I'll let you go, then, but I'll see you tonight. Celebrations are in order! Any preferences for dinner?"

"Surprise me," Evie challenged him, grinning.

"Will do," Bill said. "Also, I hope you don't mind that I'm going to be bragging about you to these Italians and anyone else who comes within a fifty-foot radius of my lab for the rest of the day. God, Evie, this is incredible!"

"Love you," Evie said, and hung up.

She had missed her mom's call and was leaving her a voicemail message when she noticed through Lottie's office door that the vote on Chris's nomination was concluding – also 97 to zero. The instant she finished her message to her mom, she scrolled through her phone contacts and found Chris's mobile number. The line picked up immediately.

"This is Chris," said the voice on the other end, sounding as harried as Evie had felt five minutes prior.

"Congratulations, Justice Mulready," she replied.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then Chris began to chuckle.

"Evie? Is that you? Wait, what's going on? I've been pacing around my office all day with the door locked, trying to avoid any bad news – or, really, any news at all. Does this mean they're done voting?"

"They are, indeed – and, by the way, that's Madam Chief Justice, to you. Hasn't anyone gotten in touch yet to alleviate the suspense?"

"Well, suddenly my office phone is ringing off the hook," Chris noticed. "And my cell phone, too, for that matter. I should probably go."

The enormity of what had just happened suddenly hit him.

"Oh my god, Evie."

"Let it sink in for a few moments longer, and your mind will really be blown."

"We did it," Chris grinned.

"I know!" Evie answered, equally giddy, and at the same time on the verge of bursting into tears again.

"This doesn't feel real. Against all odds, we made it! This is unbelievable."

"Chris, go answer your other phone," Evie ordered, since her mom was trying to call her back again. "We'll talk soon."

"Yes, Chief," Chris replied cheekily. "Congratulations to you, too."

He hung up his cell phone and immediately seized his office phone, only it had just gone to voicemail, so he dropped it back down onto its receiver and answered his cell phone, which was ringing again.

"Hello?"

"Finally!" Louise exclaimed. "You said to call the instant the vote was over and give you the news, and yet it seems someone beat me to the punch."

"I guess she called when the vote was a clear yea, not when it was completely over?" Chris reasoned. "Sorry about that."

"Never mind the timing! Chris! Oh my god! Congratulations!"

"Thank you." Chris shook his head in disbelief. "I never thought I'd say this, but it appears that the U.S. Senate sometimes does the right thing."

"How can you sound so calm at a moment like this?" Louise scolded him. "I'm practically jumping up and down in excitement!"

"Shock, probably?"

"You're not still locked in your office, are you?"

"I mean, I only got the news a few moments ago..."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, dear, go interact with some actual human beings," Louise scoffed. "Your colleagues are probably all waiting outside for you with banners and cake and champagne, and you should stop being ridiculous now that you no longer have any reason to lurk moodily behind closed doors."

"I'm not lurking moodily behind closed doors," Chris grumbled.

"Still, go be with your friends right now. We'll have plenty of time to celebrate when you get home, if I haven't passed out from an excess of euphoria by then. I'm off to go field calls from literally everyone we know who doesn't try to get in touch with you directly – wish me luck!"

"Good luck," said Chris. "And I love you."

"Same to you, Mr. Justice. Now, go be sociable!"

Chris's office phone was ringing again, but Louise was right; this was the type of moment that really called for celebrating with others in person. Feeling marginally guilty for the fact that he had snapped at everyone that morning when he had heard that the vote had been scheduled for later that day, Chris grabbed his suit jacket from off the back of his chair, shrugged it on as he crossed the room, unlocked his office door, and stepped into the hallway. Immediately several heads turned, and people rushed forward to shake his hand and congratulate him – clerks, attorneys, interns, stenographers. Under most other circumstances, Chris would have been slightly annoyed to have so many people deliberating impeding his speedy progress down the corridor of the courthouse, but today the grin on his face only grew wider and wider as more and more people wished him well. Uncharacteristically, he also found that, at least today, he didn't care if he looked somewhat absurd to be smiling as unrelentingly as he was, and he gamely agreed to follow one of his clerks over to one of the courtrooms.

As he turned a corner, Chris glanced at the screen of a TV that was visible through the open door of one of his colleagues. Headshots of both himself and Evie were displayed on the screen, alongside their new respective titles and their identical confirmation margins. This all felt nothing at all like what Chris had expected it to feel, but then again, he hadn't known that it was quite this possible to feel so stunned and so ecstatic at the exact same time. _And this is only the beginning_ , he thought to himself in wonder, _this is only the beginning of an entire lifetime of this sort of exhilaration..._

But his thoughts were cut short when his clerk open the door of the courtroom, announced, "May I present the newest member of the United States Supreme Court, Associate Justice Christopher Mulready!" and beckoned Chris forward to be applauded by all of his assembled colleagues. In the midst of the smiles and cheers, Chris suddenly realized how much he was going to miss working alongside of so many of the people here on the D.C. Circuit, and the thought made the grin on his face falter for just a moment. But then he remembered that they'd still all be here for him, at the base of Capitol Hill even as he ascended to its summit; and that, moreover, he was about to gain a whole new set of brilliant colleagues that would keep him on his toes in the best way possible. And that latter thought, more than anything else, kept the smile plastered on Justice Chris Mulready's face long after he finally came back down to earth a few days later.


	2. Elected as President More Than Twice

AMENDMENT XXII

 _Passed by Congress March 21, 1947. Ratified February 27, 1951._

Section 1.

No person shall be elected to the office of the President more than twice, and no person who has held the office of President, or acted as President, for more than two years of a term to which some other person was elected President shall be elected to the office of the President more than once. But this Article shall not apply to any person holding the office of President when this Article was proposed by the Congress, and shall not prevent any person who may be holding the office of President, or acting as President, during the term within which this Article becomes operative from holding the office of President or acting as President during the remainder of such term.

Section 2.

This article shall be inoperative unless it shall have been ratified as an amendment to the Constitution by the legislatures of three-fourths of the several States within seven years from the date of its submission to the States by the Congress.

* * *

Chris spent a fair amount of his time joking that Congress was a gridlocked mess, but in the past, he had always meant it metaphorically. As of this evening, however, he could say with absolute candor that Congress was, in fact, also at times a gridlocked mess in the most literal sense.

"How do they stand being packed in like this?" he muttered to Ann Carmine, who was crammed between Chris and Roberto Mendoza.

"Don't worry, it's less cramped once everyone sits down and stops trying to shake the President's hand," his more-senior colleague reassured him.

"That can't be soon enough," Chris grumbled as he was jostled by some overly-enthusiastic Senators surging forward, causing him to inadvertently punch Evie in the small of the back. "Sorry."

Fortunately, Evie seemed just as eager to rush forward and shake Jed Bartlet's hand as everyone around her, and as a result hadn't even seemed to register Chris's accidental assault. Even more fortunately – and unlike the surrounding politicians, who so resembled puppies frantic to dash across a lawn that Chris almost felt they should be restrained by leashes – Evie had enough grace and self-respect to wait for the President to approach _her_ as the head of a coequal branch of the government, rather than the other way around.

"Madam Chief Justice," Jed Bartlet said, offering his hand and beaming at his erstwhile nominee with evident pride.

"Mr. President," replied Evie, taking Bartlet's hand and then pulling him into a quick hug. "It's good to see you, as always."

Bartlet muttered something into Evie's ear, low enough that Chris couldn't make out what he had said, although whatever it was made Evie laugh before the President turned away to acknowledge the rest of the Justices assembled.

"And Justice Mulready, wonderful to have you here tonight," Bartlet added to Chris, who gave him a respectful nod in return, "Justice Carmine, Justice Mendoza, Justice Brannigan..."

As the President finished greeting the Supreme Court and continued to work an imaginary rope line towards the Speaker's podium, Chris reflected with amusement upon the fact that a year ago, he had been watching this exact same event in his living room with Louise and some of their friends who had attempted to impose a drinking game upon the proceedings (but stopped when Louise severely reminded them that she didn't want to have to deal the next morning with an eight-year-old groggy and whiny from having been kept up by rambunctious adults the night before). He wondered if the same group, minus one, was reassembled at his house tonight, cocktails in hand, probably cheering in excitement whenever they caught sight of Chris on the TV screen, seated next to his friend the Chief Justice as an ex officio guest of both Congress and the President at the State of the Union. Things could change a lot in only a year.

" _Now_ we can sit down and relax a little," Ann murmured as Bartlet finally reached the podium amidst thunderous applause from half of the House chamber, at which point the rest of the officials assembled decided it was appropriate to take their seats. "Word of advice, though, Chris?"

"What's that?" Chris asked as the Justices squeezed themselves into their assigned places.

"It's time to put on the best poker face you possess," Ann told him with a wry smile. "Trust me, I think you'll need it."

Being a member of the Supreme Court at the State of the Union proved to be an unexpectedly awkward experience. Chris could feel himself growing more and more annoyed as the liberal side of the room continuously interrupted Bartlet's statements with prolonged standing ovations, more showcase than substance, while meanwhile the Justices were forced to sit emotionlessly in their midst with polite but vacant smiles on their faces. He strongly suspected that the entirety of the speech itself would fit neatly into about half of the allotted hour, if only the President would plow ahead instead of stopping and mugging for the cameras while his legislative base applauded. So, between his irritation with the interruptions, and the unnecessary length of a relatively simple speech - and of course the many elements of the speech that Chris found objectionable - perhaps it was inevitable that, somewhere, Chris's attention wandered off just far enough for the mask to slip.

No one noticed it for a solid day. When not breaking news on the protests in La Paz and the American contractors under threat there, the major media outlets were all too busy analyzing the content of the State of the Union itself, focusing in particular on its call for an expansion of the Earned Income Tax Credit. Evie kept the TV in her office at a low murmur throughout the course of the day following the State of the Union, simply because it buoyed her whenever she glanced up and caught sight of footage of the President ( _her President_ , she couldn't help but think) addressing Congress on its need to push the nation in a more egalitarian direction.

"Reliving all of the highlights?" Ann asked when she swung by Evie's office in the late afternoon.

"In a manner of speaking," Evie replied, since the TV was on more to remind her of Jed Bartlet's existence than of his exact words from the previous night.

Ann scrutinized the screen for a few minutes as the President animatedly outlined some policy proposal, his voice reduced to an excited sotto voce by the low volume on the TV.

"I'll miss him," she said unexpectedly (Ann, being a dependable centrist and the very antithesis of an ideologue, was not the type to broadcast her political views). "Sure, he's got his flaws, but that's no different from the rest of us. He's served the country very well these past seven years, all things considered. And there's no guarantee that the next one will be as thoughtful or as well-spoken."

She turned to Evie, not so much looking for agreement as ensuring that she had been heard and understood.

Evie, for her part, shrugged.

"I certainly agree, but I feel like there's something of a conflict of interest in asking a judge to opine on the character of the President that nominated her."

"Fair enough," Ann conceded. "Although, do you think that Chris would agree with you?"

"Who can say?" Evie smiled. "He may not be raring to repeal the Twenty-Second Amendment for Bartlet's sake, but I don't think he dislikes the man on a personal level, as much as he pretends he does."

"Hmm." Ann glanced at the TV, and then picked up the remote from Evie's desk. "If I may?"

Evie gave her colleague a nod of consent, and Ann flipped through several channels.

"Thought you might want to take note of this," she said, turning up the volume before setting the remote back down and crossing her arms. "Hopefully it's just a blip on the radar of these particular news commentators, but still."

Evie watched politely as a set of perfectly-coiffed talking heads exchanged artificial-sounding verbal jabs from their couches, wondering exactly what this was all about.

"But to return to your point from earlier, Brandon," one of them said eventually, "what exactly can we infer from the fact that Justice Mulready rolled his eyes when the President called for an end to the Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy? Can we assume that this means that at least one member of the Supreme Court will vote to uphold the ban on gays openly serving in the military if the case pending in the Ninth Circuit works its way up?"

"Well, Kelly, from all outward appearances, I'd say yes," another replied, "unless, of course, the Justice was reacting to something other than the State of the Union... maybe the fact that Justice Carmine there seems to be nodding off?"

"I was _not_ nodding off," Ann clarified to Evie as the news anchors played a very short clip of footage to illustrate the moment in question. "Something got under my contact lens and I was trying to blink it out as discreetly as possible. They'd have realized that if the cameras had stayed on us for about five seconds longer."

"What the hell, Chris?!" Evie muttered to herself, only half-listening to Ann's indignant explanations as she stared at the TV screen. "Has anyone else picked up on this?"

"Search me," Ann shrugged.

"Well, how do we handle this, if they do?" Evie asked, increasingly irritated by the entire situation.

"Not my circus, not my monkeys," Ann replied unhelpfully. "Let's just hope for the best?"

The best, as it turned out, was not all that forthcoming. Evie felt like screaming in frustration the next morning when the _Washington Post_ ran a front-page article (below the fold, thankfully) with the incendiary title _Supreme Court Justice's Reaction Underscores Judicial Disregard for Executive_ , whose author seemed to be of the firm opinion that one governmental branch's overt shows of disrespect for another threatened the very foundation of American rule of law. She was poring over the second page of the column, her frown deepening with every line, when Chris appeared at her door.

"I'm about to buy tickets for the recital at Strathmore next weekend, and I just wanted to confirm that you and Bill are still coming along, too?" he asked offhandedly.

"What?" Evie replied, incredulous.

"The Yo-Yo Ma program, featuring that North Korean pianist that his ensemble picked up recently. We discussed this a few days ago at lunch?"

Evie sighed.

"Chris, would you mind shutting the door and sitting down?"

Chris raised his eyebrows, but did as he was told.

"Am I in trouble?" he asked in a tone that rested somewhere between worry and defensiveness.

"I'll let you be the judge of that, no pun intended," Evie said, tossing the newspaper at him.

Chris glanced at the headline and, ironically, rolled his eyes.

"Really? My confidence in the quality of reporting at the _Post_ decreases by the word."

"They're not the only ones who have taken note," Evie warned him.

"A bunch of Americans get held at gunpoint during riots in Bolivia, and _this_ is what they're harping on about?"

"I'm not saying that it's what their focus _should_ be, but it's what their focus _is_." Evie scowled. "Didn't Ann give you a lecture about poker faces before we went out there?"

"More of a last-minute reminder than a lecture."

"Chris..."

"Look, it's a subconscious reaction!" Chris argued. "I didn't even realize that I was doing it."

"Well, could you make a more conscious effort in the future to not do it again?"

"Why is it that the press is so worked up about this, when you actually _hugged_ Jed Bartlet last night in front of the rolling cameras? Isn't that a much more noteworthy indicator of the potential erosion of separation of powers?"

"One, that had nothing to do with policy and pending cases, and everything to do with the fact that I like the man, even if I'm not going to agree that everything his administration does is constitutionally legal. Two, may I remind you that I can't explain the behavior of the press, but that if they do start making a fuss about my hugging Jed Bartlet, then I'll be the first to go tell reporters in no uncertain terms that personal amicability has no bearing on whether or not I endorse every aspect of an individual's politics?"

"Good luck getting them to believe you," scoffed Chris.

"Well, people don't seem to question the publicly-known fact that I like you, do they?" Evie countered.

Chris harrumphed.

"Ann's planning to tell the press that she wasn't nodding off during the speech," Evie continued. "She was pretty incensed that that's how they interpreted the fact that her head was bowed in the footage that's going around. Says it was her contact bothering her."

"Oh, Ann," Chris snorted. "Maybe that's a true statement in the context of that particular moment, but she was definitely dozing on and off towards the end. Did you see how much she drank of the wine that Harry brought to dinner beforehand?"

"She only had one glass, to my recollection..."

"Yes, but the woman's tiny. A little goes a long way, in her case." Chris sighed. "Fine. If reporters start asking me directly what the eye-rolling was all about, then I'll remind them that personal disagreement with a policy decision doesn't preclude a judge from ruling in its favor, and vice versa. Does that sound reasonable?"

"Sure," Evie sighed. "Thanks."

"Anything else?"

"Nope. You're dismissed."

Chris, with a gentle smirk, rolled his eyes very deliberately as he got up to leave.

"And yes to the Strathmore tickets, by the way," Evie called after him, shaking her head in exasperated fondness.

* * *

Author's Note: I would be remiss not to cite the actual recent State of the Union events that inspired this chapter, namely Justice Sam Alito's mouthing of the words "Not true" in reaction to President Obama's criticisms of the _Citizens United_ ruling in 2010, and also that time in 2015 when Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg proved just how "Notorious" she is by drinking too much wine before the State of the Union and falling asleep in the middle. And of course President Obama's farewell speech last Tuesday had some bearing on how this chapter was framed.

Also, yes, this chapter takes place on the days surrounding the Season 6 episode "365 Days," and references the pianist from the Season 5 episode "Han." (I have a whole headcanon about Yo-Yo Ma going to North Korea and somehow, through his sheer delightfulness, convincing the régime to let Jai Yung Ahn join the Silk Road Ensemble as a guest artist, which allows him to travel the world and eventually defect to the States or elsewhere, when the moment is more politically opportune. Fitz is kind of furious with Yo-Yo Ma when he finds out about this maneuver, but since Yo-Yo Ma is actually the nicest person ever, Fitz forgives him pretty quickly, after an appropriate amount of warnings and grumbling. And thus our sad Chopin-playing pianist gets a happy ending, hurrah!)


	3. Prosecuted Against One of the States

Author's Note: So this all started off being about the rule against perpetuities (because canon), but then I nearly bored myself to tears while reading about the rule against perpetuities, so I combined the rule with states' sovereign immunity issues in a hypothetical case, to make it less tedious for myself. But I quickly realized that I find federal sovereign immunity issues far more interesting than what the Eleventh Amendment _actually_ covers, and then I accidentally fell off the edge of a cliff into a thicket of comparative constitutional law matters (shout-outs to comments by Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg and the writings of Justice Stephen Breyer for providing some inspiration here), and eventually I decided that this chapter would be far more interesting if it were less about legal doctrine and more about personal insecurities and role models and such. Which is to say that I apologize for how unfocused the ensuing vignette is, although of course I hope you that enjoy it regardless?

Also, I'm very well aware that Lawrence Lessig is indeed a real Harvard Law professor (also known as, that guy who ran for President on the Democratic side for a hot second back in 2015). However, my character in the below chapter is exclusively based on Christopher Lloyd's portrayal in the Season 6 episode "The Wake Up Call," down to the fact that he's about a decade older than Evie Lang (an approximate difference in the ages of Christopher Lloyd and Glenn Close) rather than over a decade younger like the actual person is. Not only did this decision spare me the bother of having to conduct extensive research on the real-life Larry Lessig, it also spared me the angst of having to write fic about a real-life human being, which would make me feel more than a little bit creepy.

* * *

AMENDMENT XI

 _Passed by Congress March 4, 1794. Ratified February 7, 1795._

 **Note:** Article III, section 2, of the Constitution was modified by amendment 11.

The Judicial power of the United States shall not be construed to extend to any suit in law or equity, commenced or prosecuted against one of the United States by Citizens of another State, or by Citizens or Subjects of any Foreign State.

* * *

"Justice Lang? Someone to see you."

Evie looked up just as Lawrence Lessig walked through her office door.

"Well, well," he said, glancing around the office. "Being the Chief Justice does have its perks, doesn't it?"

"Don't tell me you're still crammed into that tiny office with the broken heating vent?" Evie asked, rising and embracing her old friend.

"Well, they fixed the heating vent years ago, at least," he answered with a lopsided smile.

Evie grinned in return.

"It's good to see you, Professor."

"Evie, I've told you for years that 'Larry' is fine."

"Old habits die hard?"

"A long, slow death of three decades, apparently. I feel like there should be a law that mandates that, once your former students attain positions of comparatively greater stature in society, they're automatically obliged to call you by your first name."

"Fine, then, it's good to see you, _Larry_. How much time do you have?"

"Oh, an hour or so. I have to be back at the White House by 10:00."

" _Back_ at the White House?" Evie asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I may or may not have kept the President up until well past midnight, discussing the finer details of constitution-writing," Larry admitted.

"Why am I not surprised." Evie shook her head. "You know, I still sometimes wake up in a cold sweat, thinking about that final exam in your class..."

"Which you passed with flying colors, if I recall," Larry added.

"The prompt was to write a draft constitution for a hypothetical post-Maoist China! Larry, I knew _nothing_ about China, except that Nixon had only recently reopened diplomatic relations with the country; and at the time the Internet didn't exist for me to use in doing some quick background research. I don't think I slept for three days straight, between worrying about the prompt and then having to address it."

"Whatever you did, it worked," Larry shrugged.

"Pilfered shamelessly from the Basic Law of Germany," Evie confessed. "It felt like plagiarism."

Larry laughed.

"See, this is why you did so well in the class," he explained. "My entire job is essentially to pilfer the best ideas from the best constitutions out there, and see which ones make the most sense in the context of a given country's history, culture, and existing understanding of the rule of law. You can't imagine how many times I've borrowed concepts from the _Grundgesetz_ , and no one in Germany has gotten on my case about it."

"Yet," Evie winked.

"I think they're flattered, actually."

"Well, if you do end up staring down a bunch of angry Germans one of these days, I'm staying out of it. Given your time constraints, is the cafeteria downstairs OK? Nothing glamorous, but they have coffee and decent scones – my treat, of course."

"Fine by me, and thank you very much."

"So remind me again what precisely you're doing at the White House?" Evie asked as she led the way downstairs, her voice echoing through the marble hallways of the building.

"Advising a group of Belarusians on the drafting of their new constitution."

"Oh? That sounds daunting."

"In fairness, it can't be worse than the Georgians. I'm hopeful. They've got a good group of fellows assembled to tackle this: an allegedly-incorruptible legislator, a well-respected judge, a newspaper editor notorious for speaking truth to power under the old régime, and so forth."

"So, what's the first step, then? Drag out the _Grundgesetz_ and lecture them on the advantages of enshrining human dignity as an inviolable right?"

"I'll try, but they're very insistent on using the government described in the U.S. Constitution as their model," Larry shrugged, catching the elevator door for Evie and gesturing her through.

"Hence this whole process being conducted at the White House?"

"They were reassured by the notion of having members of the President's inner circle weigh in on the process. I'm not offended."

"Intriguing." Evie frowned as the elevator door dinged open and she exited into the basement. "No doubt you've already considered the problems inherent in establishing a presidential system in a country wracked with authoritarianism until only recently..."

"It's their choice, Evie. As I told the President's people last night, I'm just the midwife to this whole process. If the Belarusians insist on a presidential system, well, then it's my job to make sure that they get their presidential system, in some workable form or another."

"Hmm. Well, if my two cents are worth anything, I'd recommend loading on the checks and balances as heavily as possible."

"You don't need to convince _me_ of that, I can assure you," replied Larry, furrowing his brow as he considered the fruit selection in the cafeteria. "So, tell me about how things have been for you, at this Temple of Justice."

"Really excellent. I mean, I've only been here for half a year, so in a lot of ways the novelty is still pretty fresh, but so far, so good. I'm certainly being kept on my toes by the work, at least."

"I should think so! I was reading up on _Walton v. Louisiana_ – looks like it'll be a fun mental exercise."

"Depends on your definition of 'fun,' I think."

"Well, in this case, I meant vaguely Dickensian. Don't you feel like it belongs in a category with _Jarndyce v. Jarndyce_?"

"In the multitudes of generations involved, yes, but the difference is that there _is_ a will, and a terribly-written will with some serious ambiguities, at that."

"Indeed. It seems like you're juggling a bunch of issues, all at once: diversity jurisdiction, states' sovereign immunity..."

"Yeah, it's a regular civ pro class," Evie sighed, handing her credit card to the man at the cash register. "The case was granted cert before I hit the bench, though, so I take zero responsibility for the fact that it's before us."

"You sound about as enthusiastic to hear this case as Pontius Pilate was to sentence Jesus Christ."

"The Eleventh Amendment questions I don't mind. In fact, I'm extremely _glad_ that Walton decided to sue Louisiana while a resident of Georgia, or else this entire case would boil down to questions about the rule against perpetuities, which is where I seriously lose my enthusiasm."

"Oh, come now, Evie!" Larry's tone of voice made it clear that he would be throwing his hands in the air in academic exasperation, were he not carrying a cup of hot coffee in one of them. "If you think the rule against perpetuities is tedious, then you clearly haven't been reading the right materials! In fact, one of my former students just wrote a fantastic law review article that I'll have to send you, about 'wait and see,' the Uniform Statutory Rule Against Perpetuities, and cy près here in the States, and how they stack up against reform acts in the UK and Australia..."

Twenty minutes later, Evie was only partially convinced that the rule against perpetuities and its associated global reformation movements were really as interesting as Larry thought they were, but she conceded that his lively explanations were forty times more entertaining than any of the briefs she was making her law clerks tackle. As Larry elaborated on the importance of the common law origins of the rule, Evie noticed Chris paying for coffee at the cafeteria's cash register and waved at him.

"Sorry to cut you off, Larry, but are you acquainted with Chris?" she asked as the Justice in question approached their table.

"Nice to meet you," Chris said politely, clearly trying to determine where he had seen Larry before.

"Justice Mulready," replied Larry. "I believe we met at a conference at Harvard last year."

"Ah, of course," Chris said. "Professor Lessig."

"The very same," Larry agreed. "I've been talking poor Evie's ear off about the rule against perpetuities."

" _Walton_ ," Evie explained to Chris, sipping at her now-tepid coffee.

"I'd have thought you'd be more interested in the Eleventh Amendment issues," Chris responded, "given your work in constitutional law and federalism."

"Oh, I am, of course," Larry answered. "But I'm trying to convince Evie here that sovereign immunity isn't the _only_ interesting aspect of the case."

"And?" Chris asked Evie.

"Well, it sounds like Australia and the UK have some worthwhile thoughts on how the rule should be reformed, if nothing else," she said diplomatically.

As Evie had anticipated, Chris rolled his eyes in reaction to her answer, as he usually did upon hearing any mention of comparative law. She knew he'd probably drop by her office later that day to complain about it, which was why she had deliberately mentioned a subject that she knew would goad him just a little. To her surprise and delight, she and Chris had fallen into an undiscussed but comfortable habit of swinging by one another's chambers at least once a day, simply to check in with each other, and occasionally she couldn't resist giving him a bit of kindling with which to fuel some indignant rant or another.

"The shared English common law origins of the legal systems of Australia and the United States don't guarantee that any reforms the Australians have implemented to the rule against perpetuities will be at all suitable for the American legal system," Chris declared as he marched into Evie's office unannounced that afternoon.

Evie raised her eyebrows at him.

"You've been waiting to throw that at me for several hours now, haven't you?"

"Well, it's true, isn't it?" Chris insisted, reddening just slightly at Evie's question.

"Of course it's true," Evie agreed. "But it never hurts to examine whatever other good ideas are floating around outside of our borders, even if they're not perfectly analogous to the present functioning of our legal system. That's always been Larry's philosophy, at any rate."

"Internationalists," scoffed Chris, shaking his head. "You know him well, I take it?"

"We've been friends since my 3L year," said Evie.

"Classmate?"

"Professor. Only about a decade older than his students, at the time, but we were all in absolute awe of him. Brilliant, brilliant man." Evie grinned. "I think it's safe to estimate that at least half of his students were madly in love with him, or at the very least with his mind. Probably still are, to be fair."

Chris was surprised to realize that his stomach had just clenched slightly with what he had to acknowledge was a twinge of jealousy. Of course it was unreasonable to assume that he was the _only_ friend with whom Evie enjoyed discussing complex legal issues, but if he was honest with himself, some small part of him had secretly hoped that his was the most formidable mind with which she had ever matched wits. It rankled a bit, therefore, to know that she was so intellectually infatuated with Lawrence Lessig, of all people, and that it was an infatuation that had long outlasted the deference that students naturally paid to their older and better-informed professors.

"Well, I'll refrain from asking where you fell on that spectrum," said Chris. "Why is he in Washington, anyway?"

"Oh, helping a bunch of Belarusians draft a new constitution, as one does. They're all over at the White House right now, hashing out the larger picture questions."

"Odd." Evie wasn't surprised to see Chris's expression darken upon hearing that the Bartlet Administration was involved in this comparative constitutional law fest. "Why would our government want to get involved in something as potentially fraught as this?"

"Because, as aforementioned, good ideas know no jurisdictional boundaries. And don't worry, Chris," Evie added as Chris continued to scowl. "I don't think the Belarusians will hold the U.S. liable if they try implementing a government similar to ours and it doesn't work, but even if they do, I think we're pretty well-protected by sovereign immunity. I guess they _could_ try to sue Larry as an individual, but it would be incredibly foolish of them, since if anyone could deftly navigate a situation like that and make a quick legal end of it, it would be him."

She stopped when she noticed that Chris's scowl had weakened from sharp disapproval into something closer to dejection.

"Is everything OK?" she asked him, concerned.

"Hm? Of course."

"Not the most convincing argument you've ever made." Evie gestured for Chris to take a seat, which he did. "What's up?"

Chris hesitated, opened his mouth to say something, and instead emitted an embarrassed chuckle.

"I don't even know what to say," he admitted. "I promise that this sounds just as ridiculous to me as it will to you, but I think it's just thrown me for a loop to see you react to someone as if he's in an intellectual class above you."

Chris couldn't tell if Evie was stifling a laugh or not, but he appreciated that she was trying to help him maintain his dignity, if she was.

"That's very interesting," she said. "Do I often come across as acting like I'm the nonpareil of legal intellectualism?"

"That's not at all what I meant," Chris sighed. "Frankly, I'm always impressed at how unpretentious your demeanor always is, considering who you are and the extremely high quality of your thinking."

This time, Evie actually did have to suppress a chortle; she knew full well that arrogance was an accusation that had been leveled at Chris so often throughout his life that he had taken to wearing it proudly like a badge of honor.

"Well, thank you."

"You're welcome." Chris frowned pensively. "I guess if I had to characterize why I feel so disoriented, it's because I think of you as belonging to a pretty exclusive tier of legal thinkers, and now I'm having to shift that paradigm and imagine that there's yet another level above it, one that's accessible to people other than rare anomalies like Owen Brady and Roy Ashland and John Marshall."

Evie nodded.

"First of all, I'm very flattered. And second, I actually think I understand completely. Truth be told, I felt something like that sort of a paradigm shift the first time I met you."

"Really?" Chris smiled. "You never would have guessed it, considering how neatly you eviscerated me during that debate."

"Oh, I think it was a pretty fair fight," Evie said. "I'm actually glad to know that you thought I seemed confident in my arguments – I sure as hell didn't feel like I was at all composed."

"That makes two of us, then."

Evie laughed.

"You know, the only reason I didn't completely lose my head when you started laying down all sorts of very complex, well-reasoned arguments was because no one had _warned_ me that you were the darling of the conservative legal intelligentsia. Plenty of people had mentioned to me over the years how unabashedly originalist your opinions were, of course, but if I had known in advance that you were the genius poster boy for the Federalist Society, I might have psyched myself out beforehand. Thankfully, as it was, I found myself on reasonably equal footing the first time I met you face to face, which made it harder for me to be quite as intimidated by you thereafter."

"You were intimidated by me?" Chris repeated, rather flattered.

"I have a reasonably good sense of my abilities, Chris, but that doesn't mean that I'm not struck by irrational and occasionally crippling bouts of insecurity, like anyone else. Well, most anyone else. My point is that I might have nudged you up onto some upper plane of inimitable genius, too, if I hadn't met you as a person first."

"You know Larry Lessig as a person, though," Chris pointed out, trying not to be bitter.

"This is true," Evie conceded, "but you have to remember that he was my professor before he was my friend, and even the most open professors are, by nature, somewhat abstract concepts to their admiring students, except in rare circumstances. And, to be perfectly honest, now that Larry's been a friend for so many years, I've come to realize that not even he is completely infallible. It doesn't mean that I'm not still as blown away by his brilliance as I always was, but it does mean that I can't hero-worship him in quite the same way that I did when I was in school. Which isn't a bad thing, just a reflection of the fact that it's far easier to worship abstract concepts than it is to worship complicated, real people. I'm sure it would knock Roy Ashland and even John Marshall off their pedestals just a little bit if I knew either of them well enough to grab drinks together and swap stories about our kids doing stupid things."

Chris laughed.

"As my grandmother used to put it to me, even the men you admire the most have to put their pants on one leg at a time in the morning," he agreed. "I suppose some people out there probably feel about us the way we feel about Marshall."

"Perish the thought, but I'm sure you're right."

They both jumped when Evie's office phone rang.

"Do you mind if I...?"

"Go ahead," Chris replied, pushing himself out of the chair and heading for the door.

It was Larry, fresh from his round of constitutional counseling with the Belarusians and sounding remarkably chipper about everything.

"I think they're really gaining a solid sense of our democratic norms," he told Evie with his usual degree of calm optimism. "It'll take time, of course, but Rome wasn't built in a day, after all. Oh, and Toby Ziegler agrees quite passionately with you about potential folly of establishing a presidential system. I had to keep the peace a few times when he started to get particularly animated."

"I can only imagine," said Evie. "I once encountered him when he was on the verge of a round of fisticuffs with Chris Mulready over the constitutionality of the Defense of Marriage Act."

"Speaking of which, I'm sorry I didn't get to spend more time talking to Justice Mulready earlier today. I hope I didn't offend him?"

"Oh, no. If he was acting abrupt, then that was just Chris being Chris."

"Good to know. I was very impressed with the little of him that I saw at that conference – he seems like an abnormally smart man. I can only imagine how much fun it must be to knock heads with someone on your level like that."

"Yeah," Evie smiled. "It really is pretty incredible."

"Well, I couldn't be more glad for you, even if I still contend that you would have made a stellar professor."

A thought occurred to Evie, and she shifted her phone onto her shoulder so that she could tap out an email without putting it down.

"Do you have plans for tonight, by any chance?" she asked Larry.

"Dinner with some friends from Georgetown in a few hours. Why?"

"Presuming you're meeting them around the law school, what would you say to drinks with me and Chris? Given that you're done with the Belarusians earlier than expected, anyway."

"That's quite a tempting invitation, although I don't want to crash any pre-established plans that the two of you have..."

"Not at all, I'm only just asking him now if he's free... and he is," Evie confirmed as an email from Chris appeared in her inbox. "Shall we say the Dubliner in an hour or so?"

"Fine by me. He knows I'll be there, right?"

"Of course. I think he's actually quite curious to know more about you."

"Well, the feeling's mutual. Looking forward to seeing both of you. And I promise not to go on and on about the rule against perpetuities like I did this morning."

"I'd expect nothing less from you, Professor," replied Evie cheekily. "See you in an hour, then. Oh, and if you really want to spark some interesting conversation, I'd lean more on the subject of comparative law than anything else. I assure you that that will bring out a side of Chris Mulready that certainly won't disappoint you."


	4. The 20th Day of January

AMENDMENT XX

 _Passed by Congress March 2, 1932. Ratified January 23, 1933._

 **Note:** Article I, section 4, of the Constitution was modified by section 2 of this amendment. In addition, a portion of the 12th amendment was superseded by section 3.

Section 1.

The terms of the President and the Vice President shall end at noon on the 20th day of January, and the terms of Senators and Representatives at noon on the 3d day of January, of the years in which such terms would have ended if this article had not been ratified; and the terms of their successors shall then begin.

Section 2.

The Congress shall assemble at least once in every year, and such meeting shall begin at noon on the 3d day of January, unless they shall by law appoint a different day.

Section 3.

If, at the time fixed for the beginning of the term of the President, the President elect shall have died, the Vice President elect shall become President. If a President shall not have been chosen before the time fixed for the beginning of his term, or if the President elect shall have failed to qualify, then the Vice President elect shall act as President until a President shall have qualified; and the Congress may by law provide for the case wherein neither a President elect nor a Vice President elect shall have qualified, declaring who shall then act as President, or the manner in which one who is to act shall be selected, and such person shall act accordingly until a President or Vice President shall have qualified.

Section 4.

The Congress may by law provide for the case of the death of any of the persons from whom the House of Representatives may choose a President whenever the right of choice shall have devolved upon them, and for the case of the death of any of the persons from whom the Senate may choose a Vice President whenever the right of choice shall have devolved upon them.

Section 5.

Sections 1 and 2 shall take effect on the 15th day of October following the ratification of this article.

Section 6.

This article shall be inoperative unless it shall have been ratified as an amendment to the Constitution by the legislatures of three-fourths of the several States within seven years from the date of its submission.

* * *

Evie read the page over once more, then sighed and picked up her phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me. Can I borrow you for a second?"

"Sure, give me a few minutes," said Chris before hanging up. He appeared at Evie's door just as she was getting off an impromptu call from her son that she had received in the intervening time.

"You rang?" he said by way of greeting.

"Can you make sure that I have this memorized correctly?" Evie asked, picking up the page from her desk and holding it out to him.

Chris raised an eyebrow.

"Isn't this really something that you could have your clerks do...?"

"I need to maintain some semblance of dignity before my clerks," Evie explained, "and all of them did theater in college. I don't know how that happened, exactly, but I just _had_ to land myself with an entire quartet of people who are all trained to be better at memorizing things word-for-word than I am. Please, Chris?"

"Fine," sighed Chris, "but don't blame me if I, too, am no longer able to view you in quite the same dignified manner, hereafter."

Evie swatted playfully at Chris, and cleared her throat as he took the page from her.

"I do solemnly swear..."

"It says 'affirm' here, does that matter?" Chris interrupted.

"Damn it," Evie muttered. "I've been practicing off of what's in Article II; the transition team only sent their preferred wording over this morning, and Jake just completely distracted me from committing all of their alterations to memory."

"Such distractions, kids. Also, you forgot to include the name."

"See, this is the problem with trusting the letter, and not the spirit of the law," Evie grumbled.

"I could argue that this is actually the problem with activists messing with the precise wording laid out in the Constitution..."

"Oh, quiet, you. The 'so help me God' bit is definitely not in the Constitution, and yet I suspect you'll be peeved if I forget to tack it onto the end." She took a deep breath. "Right, starting over. I, Matthew Vincente Santos..."

She stopped.

"Do solemnly affirm," Chris prompted.

"Hang on," she interrupted, frowning. "Is it really a short A on 'Santos'? Because that's the way the media usually pronounce it, but their pronunciation involves a vowel that I'm pretty sure doesn't exist in Spanish, so that can't be formally correct."

"What?"

"Should the first syllable rhyme with 'ant' or 'want'? I think it's technically the latter, but everyone uses the former."

"Does it really matter?"

"It matters to me!" Evie looked aghast. "I've only met the man maybe once or twice before, and I don't want the most important time we're ever standing next to each other to result in me metaphorically falling flat on my face!"

"Heavens, is the Chief Justice letting herself be made nervous by the President-elect?" Chris grinned. "Separation of powers, Evie! There's literally nothing he can do except grumble at you, if you do mess up the pronunciation of his name. Unless," he added, frowning suspiciously, "you're only getting anxious because you're as charmed by his charisma as practically every other woman I know?"

"As an extremely straight, cis-gendered man, I wouldn't expect you to understand," Evie acknowledged, blushing slightly.

"You're as bad as Louise," Chris complained. "She keeps threatening to spend the next four years watching the TV with the sound on mute, so she can get the visual without my being subject to any of the policy proposals."

"Louise and I should grab coffee and discuss sometime, without you there to judge us. But really, what should I do about the name issue?"

The two Justices stared at each other for a moment, and then, at the same time, said, "Rob."

Evie seized her phone again and dialed in Roberto's extension.

"Hey, Evie," he answered.

"Hi," she replied. "Can I call upon your expertise regarding an issue that's come up?"

"Not a great moment - can I call you back or swing by?"

"Sure. Thanks." She hung up the phone and added to Chris, "He'll get back to us."

"Are you ever planning on reviewing the rest of this?" Chris asked, brandishing the page.

"Yeah, yeah." Evie cleared her throat. "OK. I, Matt Vincente... sorry, Matthew Vincente Santos (or Santos), do solemnly affirm that I will execute faithfully..."

"Faithfully execute," Chris corrected.

Evie swore.

"I always mess that up, why do I always mess that line up?!"

"Is there really not a 'Schoolhouse Rock' song for this oath of office?" Chris asked drily.

"Alas, if only 'Schoolhouse Rock' had presumed that every little girl and boy growing up in the 1970s would have to swear in a future President at some point in her or his life," sighed Evie. "Do solemnly affirm that I will execute faithfully..."

"You did it again."

"I know it's correct grammar, but it somehow still feels like splitting an infinitive," Evie whined. "You would think that people as conversant in Latin as the Founders would have avoided the appearance of that sort of thing."

"Oh, for god's sake, Evie, this isn't a fourth-grade English class! If it makes you feel better to scorn James Madison's seeming lack of adherence to the grammatical forms of classical languages every time you get to the line, then by all means, do so; but just be sure you say it right."

"Fair enough," Evie conceded begrudgingly. "From the top, then: I, Matthew Vincente Santos/Santos, do solemnly swe- _affirm_ that I will faithfully execute the Office of the President of the United States... and will preserve..."

"No."

"And will, to the best of my ability, preserve..."

"Right."

"Preserve, protect?"

Chris nodded.

"Preserve, protect and defend the Constitution."

"Of the United States," Chris added after a pause.

"Right, there are two of those. I keep on forgetting."

Evie sighed.

"Not a terrible first run," Chris said.

"Not a terrific one, though. Did I mention how much I hate memorizing lines?"

"You forgot 'so help me God,' I might add."

"Can we work on solidifying the part that I'm constitutionally obligated to say, first?" Evie grumbled.

"You're fine, Evie, calm down. Try it again."

Evie did, and in spite of a few moments of hesitation and non-verbal confirmations from Chris, managed to make her way through the entire oath correctly, Santos transition team edits and all.

"See?"

"OK, good to know that I can say it all in the privacy of my office without stumbling too much, but it's going to be immeasurably more terrifying to have to remember and deliver the entire thing in front of thousands and thousands of people out on the Mall."

Chris shrugged.

"Well, I'm sorry to say that I can't really help you there."

"Yeah." Evie took the page back from Chris. "These line divisions are also where they want me to stop so he can repeat each line back at me."

"You haven't really been following those at all."

"I know." Evie bit her lip. "Do you mind pretending to be Matt Santos for a moment?"

"Just a moment while I remind myself that, coming from you, this is actually a positive transfiguration."

"Oh, come on, Chris. You met him. Even you have to admit that he's very nice and very smart."

"And wrong about everything," Chris added as Evie started moving stacks of paper around her desk.

"Doesn't stop you from liking me, does it?" Evie located a book under a pile of documents and held it out to Chris. "Here, left hand on the book, and raise your right hand."

"With this?" Chris asked, gesturing with the page still held in his right hand as he obligingly put his left on the book that Evie was holding out to him.

"Yup. And we'll just pretend that it's below freezing and we're over outside the Capitol with the entire world watching on TV."

They were halfway through Evie's fourth haphazard run - by which point Chris had put down the page so that Evie could practice actually making eye contact with someone (even if not Matt Santos) throughout the oath without getting flustered - when Roberto appeared at the door.

"Oh, lord," he chuckled. "We're not swearing in Chris as the President of the United States, are we?"

"Are you implying I wouldn't do a good job?" Chris sulked as Roberto walked into the office and sat down in an armchair.

"Not at all," Roberto grinned. "But I think you would enjoy the job even less than you currently imagine you would."

"He's using the President-elect's name in the oath, so no need to worry that I'll inadvertently convert one of our Associate Justices into the head of the executive branch against his will," Evie assured him.

"Well, given that that doesn't look anything like a Bible, I wasn't that worried that any of this would be at all morally binding," Roberto pointed out.

Chris pulled his hand off of the book on which he was being mock-inaugurated and frowned in puzzlement at the cover illustration.

"It's a novel by Haruki Murakami," Evie explained. "Japanese modernist surrealism. Fantastic writing, but I'm not sure it'd be your cup of tea for even casual reading, let alone being bound to a prominent national office."

"Indeed, no," muttered Chris.

"So?" Roberto asked, folding his hands and leaning back in the armchair. "Do I get to see a sneak preview of what we can expect on January 20?"

"Of course," Chris said before Evie could object. "It'd be good for Evie to practice in front of an audience."

He picked up the transition team's page from Evie's desk and handed it to Roberto, ignoring the glare that Evie was giving him as he returned to her side and raised his right hand.

"I, Matthew Vincente Santos, do solemnly affirm that I will faithfully execute the Office of the President of the United States and will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States, so help me God," the two Justices repeated back and forth. When they reached the end, Roberto applauded politely as Evie triumphantly held out her hand for a high-five that Chris returned after a moment of bemusement.

"It doesn't look like you need my help, after all, given the dignified job that Chris is doing of playing the President-elect," Roberto said, standing and trying to hand the page back to Evie.

"Wait, wait, I did actually have a question for you," Evie said quickly, waving her hands anxiously at Roberto. "How do you pronounce his last name?"

Roberto stared at her.

"Mulready?"

"No," sighed Evie impatiently. "The President-elect's. Short A, or no? Santos, or Santos?"

"Well, would you listen to that," Roberto laughed. "I haven't heard anyone outside of an Univision program pronounce that name like actual Spanish for months."

"So that's the correct pronunciation? That's how I should pronounce it at the inauguration?"

"Search me." Roberto shrugged. "People haven't managed to mangle 'Mendoza' too badly, so I've never had to make any tough decisions regarding pronunciation discrepancies."

"Great," Evie groaned, throwing up her hands in dismay. "I'm just going to have to wing it, then, and risk looking like a total idiot in front of the entire country."

"Why don't you just call the transition team?" Roberto suggested patiently. "I'm sure someone there could tell you how the President-elect would like his name to be pronounced."

Chris tried his hardest not to snicker at the look on Evie's face, but failed.

"I am an idiot," the Chief Justice proclaimed. "I can't believe that didn't occur to me. Also, stop laughing at me, Chris."

"I'm not laughing at you," Chris lied indignantly as Evie dashed around her desk and frantically began looking for the cover sheet that had come with the transition team's edits. "I'm laughing at the situation."

Evie rolled her eyes and picked up the phone.

"Thank you both for your help, by the way," she added as she finished dialing the number that was on the cover sheet and tucked the phone under her ear. "If you have things that you need to get back to doing..."

Chris and Roberto glanced at each other.

"By this point, I'm fairly emotionally invested in the resolution of all of this," Roberto said, sitting back down in the armchair.

"I'll concur with that," said Chris, taking a seat on the couch.

Evie made a face at both of them.

"Hi, this is Chief Justice Evelyn Baker Lang," she said into the phone when the line picked up. "I was wondering if I could speak to someone about the edits to the oath of office that were sent over to the Court this morning? Thanks."

She glanced up at Roberto and Chris, who were both still patiently watching her and sporting identical amused smiles.

"OK," she argued, "I know it doesn't _technically_ have anything to do with the edits, per se, but... yes, hello?"

"Oh, for the love of god, if this is yet another prank call, one of you is seriously getting fired for gullibility." The voice on the other end of the line did not even try to disguise its irritation as it finished shouting at its underlings and answered the call at hand. "This is Josh Lyman."

"Mr. Lyman, good to speak with you again," Evie said, grinning.

"Oh! Justice Lang. It really _is_ you." Josh at least had the good grace to sound sheepish. "Sorry for, uh, any brusqueness on my part just now. How can I help you?"

"I have a slightly strange question," said Evie cheerfully. "How does the President-elect want his name pronounced during the inauguration?"

"It should be pronounced... like his name?"

"Should the first syllable of his surname rhyme with 'ant' or 'want'?"

The other end of the line fell silent for so long that, for a moment, Evie thought the connection had been lost. She was about to ask if Josh was still there when he spoke up first.

"Yeah, you know what? I think I may need to ask him about that. If you wouldn't mind holding for a moment, Your Honor..."

The line clicked, and Evie found herself listening to some seriously tasteless elevator jazz. She sighed.

"Are you both positive that you don't have anywhere else to be?" she asked Chris and Roberto, who both shook their heads innocently. "Because I'm on hold for who knows how long, and if you're just sticking around to be annoying..."

"How is this annoying?" asked Chris, feigning offense. "We're merely taking an interest in your more glamorous administrative duties, that's all."

"Smart aleck," said Evie as the hold music faded out and was replaced by a long silence. "You nuisances had better just wait until I find an opportune moment to _really_ remind you that I'm the Chief around here."

"I might have to borrow that one from you, for the next time my staff gets too out of hand," Matt Santos said pleasantly over the line into Evie's ear.

"Oh my goodness!" Evie was so flustered that she nearly dropped her phone. She turned away from Chris and Roberto, in no small part because she was certain that they were now suppressing guffaws at her expense. "Mr. President-elect. I'm so sorry, I didn't realize that you were..."

"No trouble at all. I apologize for not announcing myself earlier. I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

"Not at all," Evie replied confidently. "Just... discussing administrative duties with some of my colleagues. Collegially. Of course."

This was rapidly turning into one of those conversations that Evie knew she would mentally replay over and over throughout the next few days, grimacing the entire way through every time.

"If it's any comfort, Madam Chief Justice, virtually any management style is calm and collected in comparison to that of Josh Lyman, as I believe you've experienced," the President-elect laughed. "He said you had a very specific question for me, by the way?"

"I got your team's edits regarding the oath of office this morning," Evie explained, "and I was wondering if you could clarify for me the way that you want your surname to be pronounced during the inauguration."

"Hmm," replied Matt Santos pensively. "I hadn't thought about that. What do you think?"

"With all due respect, Mr. President-elect, it's your name."

"Well, there's the version that the American public knows and recognizes. And then there's the linguistically correct version. To use the former disavows an important part of my heritage, but to use the latter might only further alienate those Americans who already feel uneasy about having a Latino man for their incoming Commander in Chief. What have folks done in the past, in these sorts of situations?"

"Frankly, I'm not sure," Evie admitted. "This is my first inauguration, too, and I can't say that any historical parallels come to mind."

"No, I suppose not."

Evie drummed her fingers on the top of her desk, and then turned back around to lean against it, facing her colleagues.

"Could I make a radical suggestion? Or, more accurately, a radical suggestion that's a conservative suggestion."

"What's that?"

"What if we just sidestep the problem by not including your name?" She glanced over at Chris. "Maybe just stick strictly to the language used in Article II?"

Chris raised his eyebrows smugly. Roberto, for his part, frowned slightly, his arms crossed.

"We can do that?" the President-elect asked.

"It seems so, as long as your transition team doesn't mind that I'm vetoing their edits."

"Huh. Well, unless I have time to reach some sort of definite conclusion about the name pronunciation issue before the inauguration, that might be the best solution. Did they change a lot from what's in Article II?"

"Oh, you know, opted for 'affirm' in lieu of 'swear,' that sort of thing. It won't be too much trouble to relearn."

"You know what, Justice Lang? As long as the oath is administered in some lawfully-acceptable form and will get the job done, it doesn't matter much to me if my name is in there or if one verb is exchanged for another, and I want to inconvenience you as little as possible. So please just use whatever wording would be easiest for you, and I'll repeat back whatever you throw my way, the day of. Would that be all right?"

"Well, yes, of course, Mr. President-elect. Thank you."

"Thank _you_ ," Matt Santos replied. "I couldn't really say this in front of all of your peers when I visited the other week, but I've been a great admirer of yours for years now, ever since your elevation to Chief Justice. And although I have no doubt that your Court and my White House will have their differences, I nonetheless am, and will continue to be, very proud to lead the country alongside you in the years to come. Thank you for all of the work that you've done and will do in the future, this oath of office being only the tip of the iceberg. And I'll see you on January 20?"

"Looking forward to it, sir," Evie confirmed gamely, before hanging up the phone as quickly as possible.

"I don't think I've ever seen you blush quite this dramatically," Chris smirked. "What did he _say_ to you at the end, there?"

"Absolutely none of your business," Evie mumbled, both horribly flattered by how the conversation had ended, and horribly mortified about how daft she had sounded throughout at least half of the bits preceding.

"Ah, is Evie yet another of the many individuals currently infatuated with the President-elect?" Roberto asked Chris knowingly.

"Rob!" Evie snapped, blushing even more.

"Your wife, too?" Chris muttered.

"Yeah," Roberto replied, and then turned back to the Chief Justice. "You know, Evie, he's going to have to grapple with the name issue at some point or another."

"I suppose he will, but is it really _my_ job to force him to deal with these issues?" Evie deflected. "That should really be left to his PR people, or something."

"Do you realize how empowering it would be for millions of young Latino kids to hear their President say his name at his own inauguration?" Roberto insisted. "And not only that, but say his name proudly with the correct Spanish pronunciation?"

"Roberto, those same kids are going to be watching the man act as the leader of the free world on their TV screens for the next four years," Chris reminded him, not looking at all pleased.

"Eight years, even," Evie opted, winking at Chris, who ignored her.

"Fair enough," sighed Roberto, standing to leave. "But if you decide to add the name back in, just something you might want to consider."

Chris turned to Evie after Roberto had departed.

"You're not going to add the name back in, just because you don't want to add any sort of stress to Matt Santos's life," he predicted, almost accusatorily.

"I just don't want to complicate his big day unnecessarily," Evie argued. "I'm sure I'll do plenty of things that will add stress to his life, once we start ruling on cases pertaining to his administration's actions."

"Is that right?" Chris feigned amazement. "And here I'd thought you were going to give the future President a blank check, on account of his stunning good looks and irresistible charisma."

"Oh, stop it, Chris. I'm not as twitterpated as you think, and even political infatuation couldn't cloud my strong appreciation for checks and balances. Or, you know, the fair and impartial administration of justice, generally."

"I'll hold you to all of this," Chris promised, satisfied.

"I'm sure you will," Evie sighed. "Now, isn't it about time you went back to do whatever work you've been ignoring all morning?"

"Fine, fine. Have fun with Article II and your Japanese surrealist substitute for a Bible."

It wasn't until after Chris left that Evie realized that the sheet of edits that the Santos transition team had sent over had disappeared somewhere. She strongly suspected that Roberto had snuck it into his pocket to keep as a souvenir of this whole hullabaloo, but she decided not to worry about the matter. Matt Santos trusted her to do a respectable job of administering the oath of office, however she chose to do so, and that was enough. Feeling disproportionately proud about the whole situation, Evie slid a pocket-sized copy of the Constitution out from one of her desk drawers, opened it up to Article II, and went back to studying.

* * *

Author's Notes: So this turned into a much longer and sillier vignette than I'd intended, which I attribute to the fact that I've spent most of the past few weeks desperately trying not to think about how I'll be feeling about the state of everything tomorrow. Escapism! I acknowledge that perhaps it's a little out of character for Evie to be so tongue-tied when dealing with Matt Santos, but in all honesty, I know that that's totally how I would react if I somehow ended up on the phone with Barack Obama (especially 2008-edition Barack Obama), and while I'm obviously not the Chief Justice of the United States, I figure that even the members of the Supreme Court are only human and thus subject to the same sorts of silly political crushes that the rest of us develop, too.

I should also acknowledge that the inspirations for this chapter are two somewhat memorable oath of office fails on the part of actual Chief Justice John Roberts, both of which are readily available for viewing on YouTube:

The first and better-known of these two bloopers was Roberts' administration of the oath of office to President Obama at his 2009 inauguration, during which Roberts mixed up the "faithfully execute" bit of the oath so thoroughly that Obama literally stared at him for a few seconds while trying to untangle how the line is actually supposed to go. They actually ended up redoing the oath the next day at the White House, just to be sure that it was administered properly, so that no one could try to claim that Obama wasn't legitimately sworn in as President, which of course some people did anyway. (You can read all about this in the first chapter of Jeffrey Toobin's excellent book _The Oath_ , whose title was derived from this very incident, and whose contents generally detail the contentious relationship between the Obama White House and the Roberts Court in a remarkably engaging manner, if you're a complete and total nerd like I am.)

The second, lesser-known incident was when Roberts swore in then-newly-confirmed Justice Sonia Sotomayor in 2009. Roberts got all of the words right this time, but repeatedly said Sotomayor's surname in a manner that bore only a tenuous resemblance to standard Spanish pronunciation. As someone with a name that has been subject to all sorts of interesting interpretations by English speakers unfamiliar with the phonology of its language of origin, I'm a little too gleeful whenever I watch the clip of Sotomayor's investiture over again, because she totally ignores how Roberts mangles her name and pronounces it with an impeccable Spanish accent back at him. (He pronounces it her way now, to be fair, but I'm still a little surprised that a man as intelligent as Roberts apparently didn't even bother to learn how to say Sotomayor's name correctly before a big, important event like her swearing-in as a Supreme Court Justice.)


	5. Intoxicating Liquors

Author's Note: In which Evie and Chris's relationship moves beyond being strictly platonic. (If you absolutely hate this idea, read only about halfway down and then skip ahead to the next chapter. Or just skip ahead to the next chapter altogether, frankly.)

* * *

AMENDMENT XVIII

 _Passed by Congress December 18, 1917. Ratified January 16, 1919. Repealed by amendment 21._

Section 1.

After one year from the ratification of this article the manufacture, sale, or transportation of intoxicating liquors within, the importation thereof into, or the exportation thereof from the United States and all territory subject to the jurisdiction thereof for beverage purposes is hereby prohibited.

Section 2.

The Congress and the several States shall have concurrent power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.

Section 3.

This article shall be inoperative unless it shall have been ratified as an amendment to the Constitution by the legislatures of the several States, as provided in the Constitution, within seven years from the date of the submission hereof to the States by the Congress.

* * *

"Come in," shouted Chris to whomever was knocking on his door.

He scowled when Evie peered around the doorframe.

"Bad time?" she asked. "Or are you just peeved with me?"

"It has felt like the longest day imaginable, and your comments during conference earlier really didn't help matters," Chris snapped.

Evie's lips pressed into a tight line of disapproval, but she nodded.

"I understand. I can't really apologize for saying what I honestly think, but I respect that you disagree."

"Can I help you with something?" Chris asked with pointed abrasiveness.

"No," Evie replied. "I just came by because it's a Friday afternoon before the holidays, and I was wondering if you wanted to swing by my office for a drink after you've cooled down?"

Chris stared at her.

"Swing by your _office_ for a drink?"

"I may or may not have purloined a bottle or two of that really good Merlot from the party yesterday," Evie confessed.

"Are we even _allowed_ to drink in chambers?"

"Honestly, Chris," Evie laughed, "do you think there's a single Justice who _hasn't_ sat around in his or her chambers drinking, at some point in time?"

" _I_ certainly haven't."

"Neither have I, but everyone has to start somewhere, right?"

"Are the others coming by, too? Do I need to worry about what Harry will say if I don't show up... or, even worse, if I do?"

"No, Chris." Evie shook her head, trying not to look too amused. "I know what I said earlier stung you a little bit, and since I hate the idea of recessing for the holidays on a sour note, I'm inviting you for a drink as a means of..."

"Apology?"

"Peaceful reconciliation," Evie opted. "Just the two of us. We can go out, if the idea of sipping wine in my office is too horrifying for you; I'm sure I can put the Merlot to good use in some other context."

Chris harrumphed.

"Well, you know where to find me, if you decide between now and five that it's worth being on speaking terms before the new year rolls around," Evie sighed.

Everyone at the Court tacitly acknowledged that not a whole lot was going to get done on the Friday before the winter recess. Evie's clerks were all gossiping about their holiday plans, and she sent them all home at three, knowing that all of the other Justices would be doing the same. Roberto swung by not long after to wish her a Merry Christmas, and so did Ron Dreifort. Evie was grinning as she skimmed a typically-florid email from Harry Clark, wishing everyone "a most wondrous and reflective holiday season overflowing with good tidings and cheer," when Chris finally turned up.

"Have you read that thing from Harry?" he asked her indignantly.

"Compared to last year's, it's pretty tame," Evie snickered. "How are you doing?"

"After whatever assault on good taste that email was, I think I definitely could use a drink." Chris sighed and dropped onto the couch as Evie pulled a bottle of wine and two of the plastic wine glasses from the previous day's party from her desk drawer. "Are you sure we're not going to get in trouble for this, by the way?"

"As long as we don't try to give a tipsy press conference, or write and publish any ill-reasoned opinions while under the influence, I think we should be fine," Evie reassured him, uncorking the wine. "You're not planning on going back to work after this, I hope?"

"I hadn't planned on doing so, no."

"Then stop fretting about our clandestine little speakeasy here." She filled one of the plastic wine glasses halfway and handed it over to Chris. "Enjoy."

"These plastic glasses are the pinnacle of class," he remarked drily.

"Like I said, I don't typically sit around in my office, drinking," Evie reminded him as she filled a glass for herself. "So you'll have to forgive me if I don't have a set of real wine glasses at our disposal. Cheers," she added, clinking her glass against his with a most unsatisfactory thud.

"Loses something without that crystalline cling," he smirked.

"Oh, quiet you," she admonished him. "A few glasses in, and the sonic difference will be moot."

"I'll drink to that," said Chris, toasting Evie and taking a sip of wine. "Mmm. That really is good Merlot."

Chris would reflect later on that the Merlot had been perhaps a bit _too_ good. A few glasses in, and not only did he not care that the wine glasses were plastic, but he also had reached the point of not caring much if his behavior was less than impeccable.

"I never said that!" Evie laughed, her wine glass tilting dangerously in her hand before righting itself. "OK, maybe I said that he had a sort of dour charm to him, but I _never_ said that I found Toby Ziegler devastatingly attractive. I'd assert that you had considerably more chemistry with him than I did, if memory serves," she added, smirking.

"Just because you happened to catch us mid-argument?" retorted Chris. Evie was still giggling; he had only seen her drunk once or twice, but she had been giddy as a schoolgirl both times then, as well. "Evie, if the tendency to engage in fiery debate were actually indicative of physical attraction, then I'd have scintillating chemistry with everyone on this Court."

"Except for Ron," Evie chuckled.

"Except for Ron," Chris agreed, then made a face. "Perish the thought."

Evie snorted and set her wine glass down on her coffee table. She had already kicked off her heels and was sitting in her armchair with her legs curled under her.

"We should do this more often," she told Chris. "Imbibe more than we should and talk about stupid, non-legal things. Call me silly, but I kind of like chatting with you without feeling like we're about fly into some sort of friendly but fierce argument. Takes the pressure off of things a little."

"I always assumed you liked debating me," Chris pouted.

"I do, of course I do!" Evie said earnestly. "But the thing is, Chris, debating you does have its stressful elements. Not that I'm afraid to lose – because, let's face it, everyone loses sometimes – but more that I'm afraid that I'm not going to live up to your standards. I worry that someday, you're going to throw something at me that I'm not expecting, and I'm going to seriously disappoint you."

She bit her lip apprehensively, as if fearful that she had said too much. Chris blinked at her, his mind fuzzy but somehow also absolutely clear.

"Evie, you could never do anything that would seriously disappoint me," he reassured her gently.

For some reason, tears sprang up in the corners of Evie's eyes.

"I can think of one or two things that would," she said somberly.

"Nonsense," he scoffed. "You're one of the brightest, funniest, loveliest people I know, and I'm grateful for you every day."

Evie sniffed back her tears and laughed tremulously.

"See, this is also why we should spend more time drinking together," she said. "You're much freer with your compliments than you are when you're perfectly sober. Don't say anything that you might regret later."

Maybe Evie's choice of words was the trigger. Maybe it had all happened because she had just advised that he not _say_ anything that he might regret later. Chris wasn't quite sure afterwards what force had compelled him to do it, but it might have been that very arbitrary narrowing of options from speech to action. Whatever the case, something in Evie's voice right then and there convinced him to lean forward and gently kiss her, a kiss that she received with initial surprise but quickly reciprocated with intensity.

"God, Evie," Chris gasped, breaking away from her. "I don't know what I was... I shouldn't have..."

Evie pressed a finger gently to his mouth, her cheeks flushed.

"Actually, on second thought, just don't say anything at all," she murmured, a smile flirting about her lips, and then she pulled Chris back to her.

And Chris didn't protest then, nor when Evie pushed herself out of her armchair and crawled onto the couch, their limbs tangling and breath quickening as their hands and lips danced over each other, loosening articles of clothing and caressing points of unbearable tenderness, utterly intoxicated with blood-red wine and the pleasure of skin against skin and the exquisite beauty of each other's minds. What was there to protest, when this felt not only natural, but almost inevitable? This was merely the physical extension of the intellectual maneuvers that they had drilled countless times before – clashing with affectionate force, demanding increasingly more of one another, feeding off of each other's willpower, pressing one another eagerly towards some conclusion, soaring on the strength of their combined passions. Anyone who knew Chris would say that his first love was the law, always the law; but by this point in Chris's life, Evie was an inextricable part of the law, as foundational to his understanding of jurisprudence as was the Constitution itself. Who could fault him, then, for wanting to hold in his arms the manifestation of what he most revered?

The grandfather clock in the corner chimed six o'clock. Evie made a noise of protest as Chris slowly sat up, his suit jacket sliding from where he had wrapped it around her shoulders while she had snuggled against him.

"Wilt thou be gone?" she quipped lazily, sitting up next to Chris. "It was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear..."

"Oh, god," grunted Chris as he stretched his arms and cracked a knot of tension in his neck. "You really need a bigger couch, Juliet."

Evie laughed, not the drunken giggle that she had exhibited earlier, but her normal, full-throated laugh.

"I don't think my office furniture was designed to accommodate dangerous liaisons," she pointed out as Chris located his pants under the coffee table, "although you never know what our predecessors have gotten up to."

Chris pulled one leg of his pants halfway back on, then stopped and stared at Evie.

"Jesus, Evie, what did we just do?"

Evie sat back against the couch and looked at him.

"You think this was a big mistake?"

"We're both _married_. And married to really good people who love us and deserve far better from us."

"Yeah. I know." She sighed. "I was going to save grappling with that guilt for later."

Chris shook his head angrily to himself and pulled on the other leg of his pants. Evie reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"But at the same time, Chris, I don't regret any of it," she said quietly.

"Me, neither," he replied. "And that's a large part of why I feel so odious right now."

She scooted closer and rested her cheek against his shoulder, and he leaned his head against hers. They sat that way for a long moment, savoring their proximity but afraid to get any closer to one another.

"It won't happen again," Evie said finally, picking her shirt off the floor and pulling it on.

"No," he agreed, not looking at her.

They both finished dressing in an uncomfortable silence. Chris couldn't bear to set eyes on Evie until she had re-ensconced herself in her pantsuit and, with it, the dignity of her office, once again becoming his colleague and his Chief Justice, becoming someone other than the woman he had just had the audacity to seduce in her own chambers. He was glad that, for good measure, she also retreated behind her desk, ostensibly to put the unfinished wine into her mini-fridge.

"Merry Christmas, Evie," he said, his voice weighted with emotion.

"You, too, Chris," she replied.

Chris could see from the way she had planted her hands firmly on the top of her desk that she was fighting the same impulse that he was to move back towards each other; but, at this point, even a collegial handshake suddenly seemed like a hazardous proposition. Instead, he nodded with a tight smile and walked out into the darkened hallways, feeling more dazed and guilt-ridden and heartbroken than he ever had in his life. At least, he comforted himself, he had until the new year to find some sort of equilibrium concerning all of this.


	6. Hereby Repealed

Author's Note: So, about that previous chapter.

I have to confess that, while a very small corner of my mind unabashedly ships Evie and Chris romantically, the more I wrote of that last ficlet, the more I realized that I already basically write the two of them like a couple in even the most platonic of contexts. And this meant that any romantic fic that I wrote would basically be typical Evie-and-Chris banter, plus some sort of physical consummation of their longstanding intellectual attraction, which ended up feeling sort of superfluous in light of how deep and meaningful their platonic relationship already is. Plus, given how fond I've grown of Bill Lang and Louise Mulready, I felt pretty guilty betraying them in this way, which leaked into how I wrote the ending of the last ficlet, which made everything much more upsetting than I had intended it to be. And I'm very sorry about that. *sigh*

(Clearly, if I ever do write a legitimate EBL/Mulready fic, it's going to have to be AU. Like, Evie and Chris as super competitive law students. Worth some consideration. Maybe after I finish up with the Amendments?)

Fortunately, I gave myself a convenient loophole, which is that amendments can be repealed! (As anyone who followed the recent presidential election might recall from a particularly misogynistic hashtag that became popular circa October 2016, ahem.) So far, only one amendment actually has been, and it was, of course, the Eighteenth Amendment, so, by illogical extension of that fact, I am hereby making it possible for anyone who wants to repeal the ending of the previous vignette to do so. Or, if you like the romantic version, you can keep it instead of the following. Or in addition to the following. Whatever you prefer.

* * *

AMENDMENT XXI

 _Passed by Congress February 20, 1933. Ratified December 5, 1933._

Section 1.

The eighteenth article of amendment to the Constitution of the United States is hereby repealed.

Section 2.

The transportation or importation into any State, Territory, or possession of the United States for delivery or use therein of intoxicating liquors, in violation of the laws thereof, is hereby prohibited.

Section 3.

This article shall be inoperative unless it shall have been ratified as an amendment to the Constitution by conventions in the several States, as provided in the Constitution, within seven years from the date of the submission hereof to the States by the Congress.

* * *

"We should do this more often," Evie told Chris, setting what was left of her second glass of wine down on the coffee table in her office. She had already kicked off her heels and was sitting in her armchair with her legs curled under her. "Imbibe more than we should and talk about stupid, non-legal things. Call me silly, but I kind of like chatting with you without feeling like we're about fly into some sort of friendly but fierce argument. Takes the pressure off of things a little."

"I always assumed you liked debating me," Chris pouted from where he sat on Evie's couch.

"I do, of course I do!" Evie said earnestly. "But the thing is, Chris, debating you does have its stressful elements. Not that I'm afraid to lose – because, let's face it, everyone loses sometimes – but more that I'm afraid that I'm not going to live up to your standards. I worry that someday, you're going to throw something at me that I'm not expecting, and I'm going to seriously disappoint you."

She bit her lip apprehensively, as if fearful that she had said too much. Chris blinked at her, his mind fuzzy but somehow also absolutely clear.

"Evie, you could never do anything that would seriously disappoint me," he reassured her gently.

For some reason, tears sprang up in the corners of Evie's eyes.

"I can think of one or two things that would," she said somberly.

"Nonsense," he scoffed. "You're one of the brightest, funniest, loveliest people I know, and I'm grateful for you every day."

Evie sniffed back her tears and laughed tremulously.

"See, this is also why we should spend more time drinking together," she said. "You're much freer with your compliments than you are when you're perfectly sober. Don't say anything that you might regret later."

"I think I've proven time and time again that I don't have to be drunk to say things that I'll regret later," Chris pointed out.

"Well, that goes both ways," Evie sighed. She crossed her arms, settling back in her chair with a forlorn, distant look.

Chris hated it when Evie got upset about things – except, of course, when he was the one trying to make her feel awful, and that too always resulted in his feeling positively villainous, once he had calmed down enough to feel remorseful. He reached over and gave her arm a gentle punch.

"Come on," he said, "I'm taking you out to dinner."

"Whatever for?"

"Because, as you pointed out, it's the last Friday before the winter recess, and celebrating the holidays over dinner is the sort of thing that friends do." Chris stood and immediately put a hand on the back of the couch to steady himself. "Besides, you're teetering on the edge of the gloomy, self-pitying stage of being intoxicated, and the best way to cheer you up is probably to feed you something."

Evie sighed and rubbed her eyes.

"Yeah, you're probably right," she sulked. "But, Chris, you can't take _me_ to dinner – I was the one being nasty to _you_ earlier today."

"It all evens out, in the end," Chris said, shrugging his suit jacket back on. "I'm sure there's been at least one occasion in the past when you've treated me to dinner right after I've made you see red at work."

"Mmm, this is true." Evie fished around under her coffee table with one toe until she had hooked one of her shoes. "Fine, let me put this wine away and let Bill know that I'll be home a little later than expected. You're not standing Louise up, are you?"

"Not at all. She actually suggested that I grab a drink with you after work today, although I think she meant something a little more formal than second-hand Merlot served in plastic wine glasses in your office."

"Your wife is a woman of unquestionable taste," said Evie, locating her other shoe. "Great, give me five, and I'll meet you in the hallway."

Evie had to admit that, after a few glasses of water and half of a Caesar salad, she felt considerably more composed and considerably less light-headed. But, because it was almost Christmas and all was reasonably well in the world, she ordered another glass of wine for both herself and Chris at the restaurant, anyway.

"Cheers," she said, clinking her glass against Chris's to produce a very satisfying ringing tone.

"I'm still questioning if even more wine is a good idea," Chris muttered as he took a dainty sip of Chardonnay.

"When is wine ever _not_ a good idea?" Evie laughed. "Here's to the Twenty-First Amendment!"

" _That's_ what you're going to toast?" Chris snorted.

"Are you accusing me of being a nerd?" Evie asked, grinning. "What would _you_ toast, then – something quotidian like friendship or good health?"

"I have no idea," Chris grumbled. "The potential prospect of future legislation mandating Congressional term limits?"

Evie choked on a sip of wine and was still spluttering somewhere between guffaws and hyperventilation when two awestruck young women approached the table to ask her for a photograph.

"We both work on the Hill," one of them explained breathlessly. "And I'm applying to law school this year, in large part because of your example."

"Well, I'm thrilled to hear that," said Evie, smiling obligingly for the photo. "Good luck with everything."

Chris gave her a somewhat cross look when the Hill staffers had departed.

"They barely even acknowledged me," he pouted. "Just sort of looked at me in horror and immediately averted their eyes, as if I were some sort of Gorgon."

"Hate to break it you, but the Gorgons were all women," said Evie breezily. "And don't feel too slighted. If a bunch of Heritage interns had waltzed in here just now, things would have gone exactly the other way round."

"Hmm." Chris took another sip of wine and frowned at his glass pensively. "I suppose you get a lot of young women telling you that they want to go to law school because of your example?"

"Oh, once in a while." Evie figured it was morally justifiable to tell Chris a half-lie, to keep him from having his feelings hurt by something that she had said for a second time that day. "Why?"

"I'm curious." Chris set down his wine glass and folded his hands. "What made _you_ decide to go to law school?"

"You'll laugh at me if I tell you," Evie said, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "It's pretty cliché."

"You're not about to tell me that you went to law school because of some irresistible man, are you?"

"Indeed, because of the most irresistible man of all." Evie sighed dreamily. "Unfortunately, he was also a widower, and, more importantly, fictional, so I never really had a shot."

"Don't tell me..."

"Although," Evie clarified, "I should point out that _he_ had quite a shot, even if he only used it to take down rabid dogs. Mockingbirds, on the other hand, were strictly _verboten_."

Chris rolled his eyes, and Evie laughed.

"OK, so, what's your story, then?" she asked. "You're not going to shock me by revealing that you, too, went to law school so that you could one day be Atticus Finch?"

"Even worse." Chris smiled wryly. "I wanted to be Alexander Hamilton."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously." Chris downed the rest of his wine. "My uncle gave me a copy of _The Federalist_ for Christmas when I was twelve, and that was that."

"You fell in love with Alexander Hamilton when you were twelve." Evie could feel a broad smile spreading across her face.

"Oh, stop smirking at me, Evie!" groaned Chris.

"I think it's sweet! And beautifully ironic, given the fact that Hamilton and the rest of the Federalists were such avid proponents of a strong centralized government."

"I'm not saying that my twelve-year-old self was the most informed person," Chris explained grumpily. "I had no real interest in what Hamilton's political ideology was, at the time. It was the sweeping rhetoric that inspired me, more than anything else."

Evie knew it was probably annoying her dining companion, but she just couldn't stop grinning. As curmudgeonly and aloof as Chris could be, there were times when he was so adorably earnest that Evie just wanted to hug him. She suspected that she would feel very much the same way even if she weren't comfortably inebriated once more.

"I shouldn't have said anything," sighed Chris. "You're going to be holding this over my head for years now, aren't you."

" _In vino veritas_ , my friend." Evie toasted him and tossed back the rest of her own glass of wine. "Well, I hate to break it to you, but if our legal inspirations were to face off against one another in, say, a pistols duel..."

"I'm on the verge of making you pay for your own dinner."

"And it would serve me right." Evie stretched discreetly. "Aah, it's going to be a while yet before I can drive back home. I'm so tempted to go back to my office and take a nap on my couch, but the odds are I wouldn't wake up until tomorrow, by which time Bill probably would have requested that the National Guard go in search of me."

"Take a cab," suggested Chris. "That's what I'm planning to do."

"And have to come all the way back down to the Court tomorrow to get my car?" Evie groaned.

"You didn't _have_ to have another glass of wine, you know."

"I suppose I did bring this upon myself." Evie sighed and tried to grab the bill when the waiter brought it by, but Chris beat her to it, and then further acted the gentleman by giving her the first cab that he was able to flag down on the curb outside the restaurant.

"In case I don't accidentally run into you tomorrow during sundry car-retrieval operations, or at any point thereafter, happy holidays to you and yours," she told him as he opened the door for her.

"Same to you," Chris replied, and then added, "and thank you for keeping the sentiment a sight shorter than Harry did."

Evie laughed; and then, because it was now officially winter recess, and the lingering effects of the wine still had her feeling cozy and drowsy and a little bit impish, she impulsively gave Chris a warm kiss on the cheek. His skin was slightly bristly with five o'clock shadow and cold with the chill of the wintry air. Evie acknowledged that a kiss on the cheek really wasn't how one said goodbye to Christopher Mulready; but it was how Evelyn Lang said goodbye to some of her closest friends, and since Chris was indisputably one of those, she figured that he was fair game, as well.

As Evie expected, her unsuspecting victim gave her a startled look as she clapped him on the shoulder and climbed into the cab. But Chris nonetheless recovered enough to return her wave as the cab pulled away from the curb and into the tranquil night, and in fact was smiling bashfully to himself by the time the next cab came into view.

* * *

Author's Note: And... having just written all of that, I'm suddenly dying to write something short and extremely silly about Evie making Chris listen to _Hamilton: An American Musical_. Evie would sing along loudly with all of Angelica Schuyler's music and be better at rapping than anyone would have expected, except that she wisely gives up when she reaches "Guns and Ships" because even being Chief Justice still doesn't guarantee being as superhuman as Daveed Diggs. She also usually just stops listening to Act 2 circa "The Adams Administration" (or sometimes even "One Last Time") because the rest of the musical makes her way too upset. Meanwhile, Chris would take a lot of issue with how obnoxious Jefferson and Madison (the states' rights advocates) come off in the show, and be grumpy about a lot of other things, including all of the blatantly pro-immigrant lines, and the occasional historical inaccuracies (because Chris totally keeps a copy of the Ron Chernow biography on his nightstand and knows it frighteningly well). He's also low-key irritated with the fact that his daughter has told him that she and her friends now default-imagine George Washington as looking like Chris Jackson, which, he argues, is bothersome because it's just not historically accurate. But Chris (Mulready) would still concede that it's a remarkably clever show, even if that still doesn't mean that he's willing to spend hundreds of dollars to go see it on Broadway with Evie, who meanwhile is trying to figure out how to get herself invited to the White House whenever Lin-Manuel Miranda is scheduled to perform there next.


	7. Failure to Pay Any Poll Tax

AMENDMENT XXIV

 _Passed by Congress August 27, 1962. Ratified January 23, 1964._

Section 1.

The right of citizens of the United States to vote in any primary or other election for President or Vice President, for electors for President or Vice President, or for Senator or Representative in Congress, shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or any State by reason of failure to pay any poll tax or other tax.

Section 2.

The Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.

* * *

Roy Ashland's death did not surprise anyone, given his poor state of health over the previous few years. Nonetheless, the news still came as a shock to Evie, and she suspected that she wasn't the only one who felt stunned by the passing of the former Chief Justice. Ashland had sat on the Court for decades, through virtually all of Evie's legal career until her own elevation; and even off the bench, the liberal lion had not exactly retreated into a quiet retirement, continuing to make statements that were just ambiguous enough to not be overtly political, while still clearly voicing his support of both Evie's leadership and the best efforts (if not the practical impact) of the Bartlet and Santos Administrations.

The fact was that, for as long as Evie could remember, Roy Ashland had been a pillar of American jurisprudence. And she had always taken his presence for granted, as if he himself were as eternal and unshakeable as the text of the preamble to the Constitution. That the fearless standard bearer for the left had suddenly ceased to exist was therefore somewhat incomprehensible. It was like saying that the moon had arbitrarily left Earth's orbit, or that the entire continent of Australia had vanished overnight into the oceans, Atlantis-like.

Evie kept a series of framed photographs scattered across the shelves of the bookcases in her chambers, jumbled between legal ledgers and various mementos that had made their way into her office collection over the course of a career. There, next to a graceful celadon vase that she had picked up in Korea on her honeymoon, was that photo of her and Chris flanking President Bartlet, which she mostly kept to bother Chris because he knew just how hilarious she found his facial expression in the photo (visibly annoyed that Bartlet was paying much more smiling attention to Evie than to him). On the other side of a stack of Rebecca Hoyt's books, which Rebecca invariably gifted to her colleagues upon each tome's publication (they were all on international arbitration, and Evie had yet to read any of them through in full), Bill had captured a picture shortly after Evie's nomination of Evie with her arm around Jake's shoulders as they looked up the steep steps in front of the Supreme Court, their backs towards the camera.

And there, between two intricate wooden models of _Tyrannosaurus rex_ and _Triceratops_ skeletons that one of Evie's clerks had made for her because of the Chief Justice's lifelong fondness for dinosaurs, was a photograph of her investiture: Bill holding the Bible in the center of the photograph, while she and Roy Ashland stood facing each other on either side, her right hand raised. _A liminal moment_ , Ashland had remarked just before the event itself, since during those few seconds that it took to recite the oath, who could say which one of them was actually the Chief Justice of the United States?

A knock on the door of her chambers pulled Evie from her thoughts.

"You coming?" Roberto asked, poking his head into the room.

"In a moment," Evie said without bothering to turn around. Even in the stillness of the photograph, even in profile, Ashland's eye still seemed to twinkle. She would miss that about him, how keenly aware of his surroundings he had always seemed to be, whenever they met. Evie had heard that, in his worse moments as he aged, Ashland had become disoriented enough to forget where and with whom he was, at any given moment; and, while such a state would be distressing to witness in anyone, how much more so for a man whose sense of placement had always been so sharp?

Evie was suddenly very glad that the ceremony would be closed casket. She wasn't sure she could bear to look at Roy Ashland's face and not see that mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

Ashland had been a practicing Methodist, but his aversion to the mingling of church and state was so strong that he had requested in his will that any public observance of his death be held in a nonreligious setting. As a Chief Justice traditionally lay in state in the Supreme Court anyway, his family had decided that any public observance might as well be held there, for the sake of efficiency. And so, in spite of her gratuitous meanderings down memory lane, Evie managed to make her way over to the Great Hall in no time at all, before the crowds had arrived en masse.

"Justice Lang!" exclaimed Josh Lyman as Evie practically crashed into him upon entering the hall. "Good to see you."

"You, too, Mr. Lyman," Evie replied.

"Please, Josh is fine," said Josh almost sheepishly.

"Very well, then – you, too, Josh. Although you'll have to forgive me if I ask you to stick to 'Justice Lang' for the sake of propriety. How have things been?"

"Ah, you know, good." Josh unconsciously mussed his hair a bit with one hand as he stared intently across the hall. "Busy, but good."

"I assume that your presence here means that the President is on his way?"

"In theory, although for all I know, he'll decide to stay on the phone with the Australian Prime Minister for the rest of the day, chatting about, marsupials, or something." Josh shrugged irritably. "I'm keeping an ear open for the motorcade, in the hopes he's feeling less friendly than usual."

"I should leave you to it, then. Welcome to the Court."

"Thanks." Josh exhaled. "Wish we were visiting under happier circumstances. Justice Ashland was one hell of legal mind."

"That, he was."

"Scared me to death to have to go talk to him," Josh reminisced. "He was just about the only person I knew who could really scold the President and get away with it – besides the First Lady, that is."

"I didn't know you knew him so well," Evie said, surprised.

"I mean, I didn't. Just... interacted with him, once in a while. We, uh, had to go apologize to him once for the fact that we sent his family condolence flowers on the occasion of his death."

Evie furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

"You had to go apologize to _him_...?"

"Yeah, it was a mistake," Josh sighed, scowling. "My intern's mistake – he was, ah, not exactly what you'd call a detail-oriented person, and he didn't realize that it was Justice _Brady_ who had died... which, you clearly remember," he finished.

"Of course."

"Lambasted us for a bit before we got around to, you know, asking him if he'd step down as Chief Justice, which, I should add, was a request that had not gone over so well when made by the President a few months prior, after Justice Ashland's collapse," Josh muttered.

Evie blinked.

"I also didn't know that you were the one who had made that request."

"Yeah, that was me." Josh sighed. "My crazy idea, my neck on the line. Good thing Justice Ashland liked you as much as he did; I think he would have thrown us out of his chambers on our ears for such an egregious breach of the separation of powers, otherwise. We probably would have deserved it."

From outside the building, the wail of sirens whistled into earshot and crescendoed steadily into a loud blare.

"That'll be the President." Josh cleared his throat. "Always nice talking to you."

"And likewise," smiled Evie as Josh nodded somewhat bashfully and began to walk briskly down the length of the hall to go greet his boss.

By the time the President and First Lady had finished making their rounds and taken their seats, Evie had already expressed her condolences to Ashland's children and grandchildren and was hovering by the podium to give her opening remarks. She caught the eye of Paul Lafayette and gave him a questioning thumbs-up, which he returned in affirmation.

"Good afternoon, and welcome," Evie said, stepping up to the microphone and wincing as the speakers blared piercingly once. "Thank you all for being here this afternoon to celebrate the life of Chief Justice Roy Ashland. For those of you who don't know me..."

A murmur of quiet laughter rippled around the hall, and Evie grinned in embarrassment.

"For those of you who don't know me," she repeated, "I'm the current Chief Justice of the United States, Evelyn Baker Lang, and I am honored to have counted Justice Ashland as not only my predecessor on the Supreme Court, but also as an inspiration, a mentor, and a friend. I think it's extremely rare to be able to meet one's heroes, but even rarer to develop meaningful and lasting relationships with them, and although Justice Ashland was a hero to many, that exalted status didn't keep him from enthusiastically nurturing the talents and aspirations of an extraordinary number of younger attorneys. He was known for being a steadfast mentor to his clerks, not just during their tenure in his chambers, but throughout their entire careers. And on a personal note, I was delighted to find that, although he always insisted that I be my own judge and my own Chief Justice, he was never above offering me unsolicited and always helpful advice, whenever he thought it was necessary."

In the front row of the hall, where the Justices were seated next to President and Mrs. Santos, Patrick Brannigan sniffed loudly until Ann Carmine offered him an embroidered handkerchief, which Pat accepted along with the travel packet of tissues that Roberto was offering him from around an irritated Harry Clark.

"However, given that I never had the pleasure of serving alongside Justice Ashland," Evie continued, knowing full well that Ashland himself would have made some gently grumbling quip or another here about her ascension being a mutually-agreed-upon usurpation of power, "I'd like to introduce Justice Paul Lafayette to give more extensive remarks on the late Chief Justice's presence on the bench. Mr. Justice?"

Paul wiped his eyes and carefully folded and tucked away the tissue he had snagged from Roberto, before walking to the podium and giving Evie a hug that made her feel very small by comparison to Paul's solid frame. He took a moment to compose himself as Evie made her way to the seat next to Chris.

"Thank you, Madam Chief Justice," Paul finally said in his deep, deliberate voice. "And thank you all again for being here to celebrate a truly extraordinary man. Roy and I served on this bench together for over twenty-five years, and each and every day of those twenty-five years, I was impressed and inspired by his intelligence, by his thoughtfulness, by his sometimes-biting wit and his wisdom, and by his unfailing determination to make this nation a more equal and just place. He was a man who was never afraid to disagree with others, and to do so with a degree of passion that could make lesser mortals tremble; but he also learned early on the benefits of carefully _listening_ to his fiercest ideological adversaries, which earned him the lasting respect of even those who opposed his rulings at the most fundamental levels. It is a unique quality in any individual, and it is a quality essential to anyone who hopes to have an impact on an appellate court, where cultivating the goodwill of others is paramount, even that of those whose concurrence you can't always hope to get."

Chris very discreetly nudged Evie with his elbow, and she very discreetly elbowed him back, feeling slightly guilty that they were behaving like fidgety schoolchildren at the memorial service of a distinguished public figure, especially given how deeply all of their other colleagues were mourning the loss of their former Chief Justice.

"However, I also had the pleasure of working alongside Roy long before either of us ended up on the Supreme Court," Paul continued. "I had just graduated from law school and moved back home to Baton Rouge, expecting to start a private practice; but then, as many of you know, some folks from the NAACP convinced me that I should help litigate some of the cases that they were trying to push up to the Supreme Court, to challenge segregation and other laws that systemically disenfranchised African Americans. The first case I was handed was a challenge to the poll taxes that had been imposed by many Southern states after Reconstruction, as a means of trying to prevent black Americans from exercising their right to vote. Now, I knew very little about poll taxes or how to construct a solid argument against them, but my more-senior co-counsel had this friend – a fiery lawyer with the ACLU who had drafted several of the amicus briefs submitted in other cases that the NAACP had argued. According to my co-counsel, this friend of his knew just about everything there was to know about the Equal Protection Clause and the best way to argue it in court, so he introduced us over drinks, and I asked for this equal protection expert's thoughts on the poll taxes issue. And, as I'm sure you can all imagine, I got a _lot_ of thoughts," Paul added with a wistful grin.

"Roy and I remained friends for years afterwards, even after that particular case became moot before ever reaching the Supreme Court, thanks to the passage of the Twenty-Fourth Amendment. Long after I'd gained the experience and confidence I needed to successfully argue other cases for the NAACP without any help, I continued to pick Roy's brain when working on a new case, and he was always happy to vigorously test my arguments for weaknesses and offer any perspectives he had. Roy's steadfast allegiance to the fight against racial discrimination could not be shaken by constant threats and occasional acts of violence, as was proven over and over, whenever his vocal support of the work that the NAACP was doing made him as much of a target of hate as the rest of us. And then, as luck would have it, we ended up here together, where I continued to listen and learn from Roy, and where I think it's fair to say he also listened and learned from me. That was one thing I always appreciated about him; even when I was a young and inexperienced lawyer, Roy never tried to belittle me or make me feel like anything less than an equal, whether it was discussing a case in conference, or debating whether or not Portia is actually the villain of _The Merchant of Venice_ (I think Roy nearly had all of us convinced that she is), or even losing to him pretty spectacularly on the tennis court. I don't think the world will ever again see a judge or a man of his caliber grace this Court or any other."

Evie knew that Paul's speech had only meant to lionize Ashland, not to detract from anyone else, but his final words still nagged at her with unexpected intensity, throughout the remarks made by Ashland's daughter and the mourners' rendition of the secular version of "How Can I Keep From Singing?" (not even Chris's horrible tone-deafness, which usually brought Evie close to tears of mirth, had any impact on her mood). She managed to put aside her thoughts long enough to exchange some brief pleasantries with the ever-gracious President Santos, but once it seemed appropriate to do so, she retreated back to her chambers and tried to distract herself with work.

She only looked up when, for the second time that day, Roberto knocked on the door.

"Do you have an extra box of tissues?" he asked. "I ended up giving all of mine to Pat and Ann, which was a tactical error in light of this head cold that refuses to go away."

"Sure, give me a second," said Evie, pushing her chair back and rummaging in a bottom drawer of her desk.

Roberto, sensing Evie's relative gloominess, stepped into the room and eyed her with concern.

"You feeling OK?" he asked.

"Hm?" Evie replied, emerging from behind her desk with a box of tissues in one hand. "Yeah, of course. Catch."

Roberto obediently did so, but then placed the tissue box on Evie's desk and sat down opposite her instead.

"You don't have to tell me what's on your mind, obviously," he said gently, "but I'm always happy to listen, if that will help."

"And I appreciate that, I really do, but..." Evie sighed. "I'm just being irrational and stupid. It'll pass."

"If you say so."

Roberto looked less than convinced, and he moreover looked as though he had no intention of budging until Evie asked him point-blank to leave, which she briefly considered doing.

"I feel like you're going to judge me for asking this," she finally said instead, "but do you ever worry about what's going to be said at your memorial service?"

Roberto furrowed his brow.

"I've never really thought about it, to be honest."

"I hadn't either, until today. And it makes me feel petty to worry about it, especially since today is supposed to be dedicated to remembering a great legal mind, not to reflecting on our own achievements and fretting about whether or not they meet a certain standard."

"One, you can't help how you feel, so stop berating yourself over it. Two, you had a very different relationship to Roy than the rest of us did, having succeeded him rather than served with him... less personal, perhaps, but more sympathetic, if that makes any sense. So it stands to reason that this all would trigger some latent feelings in you regarding legacy. And three..." Roberto chuckled softly. "Evie, you have _nothing_ to worry about when it comes to your achievements and how you'll be remembered. Did you forget that little detail about you being the first female Chief Justice?"

"But is that all that they'll put next to my name in history books?" Evie asked Roberto. "Roy Ashland will be remembered forever as a staunch ally of the fight for civil rights. Paul Lafayette will go down in history as one of the fearless NAACP attorneys who litigated the end of segregation in the South. It's no exaggeration to call either of them a genuine American hero; they both _chose_ to be part of a movement that fundamentally changed our nation. By contrast, I was _chosen_ , out of dumb luck more than anything else. I never endured any comparable struggle; all that I ever had to do is tell Jed Bartlet that I'd be honored to be his nominee. It makes me feel... I don't know, _unworthy_ by comparison."

"Let me stop you right there," Roberto interrupted. "I have some idea of how you feel, because I spent a few years feeling the same way, when I first arrived on the Court. But then I realized that there really isn't any shame in being remembered as the first Latino Justice, so long as I'm not the last. And we have to remember that we trailblazers may have a lot of symbolic importance, but we can also have a lot of practical impact, and that's ultimately what's most crucial – our impact on the law, rather than our impact on society."

"Fair enough," Evie agreed.

"Besides," Roberto continued, "with regards to what you accomplished before reaching the Court, did it never occur to you that you were playing a principal role in a movement in and of itself? What would you call your opinion in _Drori_ , if not a key moment in the movement for women's reproductive rights? Sure, people may remember Owen Brady's impassioned dissent more than anything else touching the case; but the fact remains that your ruling at the Circuit level helped guide the thinking of the _majority_ on this Court when it came to parental consent laws. It certainly caught and kept Roy's attention, I can tell you that. He was as giddy as a child opening presents on Christmas morning when we granted the case cert. _This Ms. Lang, you keep your eye on her_ , he kept telling me, even though he knew full well that I already did because we'd spent a year and a half of our wild youths busting white-collar criminal syndicates up and down the East Coast together – which, I should add, was a pretty noteworthy achievement in itself."

In spite of her glumness, Evie smiled.

"I'll concede that much, even if it's not quite as illustrious as fighting the good fight in the Civil Rights Movement."

"Well," Roberto added, "even if you don't want to claim your role in the movement you've affected most deeply, you should also remember that judges have also made names for themselves in their capacities as judges. Were it not for the facts underlying _Marbury_ , I'm not sure anyone would remember that John Marshall was ever Secretary of State; we all only really know him as the great Chief Justice who established judicial review and legitimized implied powers for Congress. And even if Paul will always remember Roy as the ACLU attorney who wrote amicus briefs in support of the NAACP, the rest of us will remember him even more clearly as the Chief Justice who defended artistic freedom of expression and a woman's right to choose, who promoted the rights of the LGBT community more vigorously than any other previous Justice, who upheld laws protecting unions and supporting a higher minimum wage... achievements that Paul probably couldn't discuss in his eulogy because they're still seen as too partisan, whereas only an idiot would try to undermine the righteousness of the Civil Rights Movement in public."

That seemed true enough. Evie could only imagine how the right-wing press would react if Paul had gotten up to the podium and lauded Roy Ashland's judicial record, which, by their standards, was the very definition of "activist" and then some.

"So," Roberto finished, "stop worrying about the past, Evie. You can shape whatever legacy you want to have through your future work on this Court, and if you'll let me speculate a bit, I'd say that you've already set yourself on a course that would do Roy Ashland himself proud."

"Thanks, Rob," said Evie, instinctively glancing over towards her photo with the late Chief Justice.

Roberto followed Evie's gaze and raised his eyebrows in amusement.

"Dinosaurs?"

"From one of my clerks who shared my enthusiasm. Chris says that his son referred to me as 'Daddy's friend with the _T. rex_ in her office' for about two years after we joined the Court."

"It's certainly a distinguishing feature," said Roberto, standing up so he could take a closer look. "Great photo of both of you."

"They've already put it in the exhibit on the ground floor, apparently."

"Seems about right." Roberto shot Evie a grin over his shoulder. "The liberal lions trading off power."

"Ay, no; no, ay," Evie agreed. "I must say, I am sorry we never had the chance to sit on the bench at the same time."

"Didn't someone once say that the sky cannot have two suns?"

"I think you're giving me too much credit. I'm really not the jurist that Ashland was."

"Of course you're not another Roy Ashland, but here I'll argue that you're right for the wrong reasons." Roberto gave the photo of Evie's investiture a final perusal, and then wandered back over to her desk and sat down again. "You know, when I was young, my hero was Jackie Robinson. It was a big deal to us kids in Brooklyn, to see a man who wasn't white not only playing in the major leagues, but _dominating_ the major leagues. My friends and I all used to pretend that we were Jackie Robinson when we played baseball after school, until one day my friend's big brother was watching us and called me over to him. 'Rob,' he said, 'stop trying to be Jackie Robinson out there on the field. You're not a bad player, but you're not Jackie Robinson, and you're setting yourself up for failure if that's who you try to be.' So I told him, 'But we all want to be the next Jackie Robinson.' And you know what he said to me?"

Evie shook her head.

"He said, 'But why be the next Jackie Robinson, when you can be the first Roberto Mendoza?' And that's always stuck with me, even now, when my baseball-related aspirations have long since fallen by the wayside." Roberto stood up to leave. "Just do the best that you can do, Evie, without worrying about what anyone else thinks. Knowing you, I promise that that alone will definitely make your blurb in the history books about far more than just your gender."

"Tissues," Evie reminded him, nudging the box across the surface of her desk towards Roberto.

"Right," said Roberto, picking the box up. "You feeling better?"

"Much," said Evie, surprised to find that it was true. "Thanks for the pep talk."

"Any time." Roberto sneezed violently and pulled a tissue out of the box to blow his nose. "I should get back to work. Might need to come back and borrow some more tissues from you, if I work through these too quickly or have to relinquish any more to our colleagues."

"Well," said Evie, "if you do, I'll be right here, working as hard as I can at becoming the first Evie Lang."

"That's the spirit," said Roberto. "Just keep that in mind, whenever the impostor syndrome starts creeping up on you. I find it helps."

And in this matter, as in most, Evie was relieved to find that Roberto's advice was incredibly sound.

* * *

Author's Note: Well. This was certainly another chapter that definitely got away from me, in terms of word count. It was initially going to be just a short narrative about how Ashland gained his reputation as a liberal lion; but then Josh Lyman crept into the picture and became distractingly awkward and adorable; and then the temptation to flesh out Paul Lafayette as basically AU!Thurgood Marshall became too great to resist; and in the end, as I kept writing, the entire thing really became less about Ashland and more about Evie, as so often happens in Things That I Write. So I'll ask you to forgive how lengthy this all became. I'm clearly too fond of all of these characters to keep things as brief as perhaps I should.


	8. Shall Not Be Denied on Account of Sex

Author's Note: While completely irrelevant to this chapter, I just want to take a moment and issue a disclaimer regarding Neil Gorsuch. Of course I couldn't help but notice from the instant he was nominated to the U.S. Supreme Court a few weeks ago that he bore a notable resemblance to Chris Mulready from a canonical standpoint: 49-year-old conservative wunderkind, beloved by the Federalist Society and the Heritage Foundation, author of a book on a hot button political issue, nominated to fill the seat of a notoriously brilliant originalist. However, I have recently been made aware of the fact that Gorsuch bears an even closer resemblance to my own portrayal of Chris Mulready than I had previously realized: married to a woman named Louise with whom he has two young children, co-founder of a newspaper called _The_ _Federalist_ while an undergraduate at Columbia, has even written in support of the need for Congressional term limits. As I had literally never heard of Gorsuch before his nomination, I am _extremely_ freaked out by these similarities, which either point to some bizarre degree of clairvoyance on my part (unlikely), or else to the fact that conservative American judges are apparently more subject to certain tropes than I had anticipated (much more likely). Just thought I would clear up here and now that any resemblance between Neil Gorsuch and my depiction of Chris Mulready is completely and utterly coincidental.

* * *

AMENDMENT XIX

 _Passed by Congress June 4, 1919. Ratified August 18, 1920._

The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of sex.

Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.

* * *

"Flowers? Check. Crudités? Check. Sandwiches? Check. Cookies, cupcakes, champagne? Check, check, check."

"Wine, for those of us who don't like champagne," Ann Carmine added drily from where she was perched on the edge of a chair at the opposite end of the Court's dining room table.

"Also check," replied Rebecca Hoyt, crossing a series of items off of the legal notepad that she had been perusing as she paced around the table. "Ah. Plates and cups and napkins. I knew we were forgetting something. We'll have to ask someone to bring some up before the festivities start in earnest."

"Want me to call downstairs?" Evie asked.

"Oh, don't worry about it. We've still got some time." Rebecca shoved her pen behind one ear and sighed. "Wish the men had bothered to show up and help out a little, though. Typical."

Ann nodded solemnly from her chair in agreement. Evie stifled a laugh. Rebecca and Ann had both been on the Court for nearly two decades, and while they had become extremely close friends during that time, the two women couldn't have been more different. Rebecca – who always made it quite clear when she met people that she was neither a Becca nor a Becky – exuded the self-sufficient wholesomeness that one might expect of a woman who had grown up riding horses around her parents' farm, but her good-natured demeanor belied an occasionally-biting steeliness that she had cultivated during her years in the Kentucky State Senate (where disputes over bourbon export tariffs had led to her interest in international arbitration) and later on the Kentucky Supreme Court. Ann, by contrast, was the reserved daughter of a financier whose profession had led to Ann spending much of her childhood in Zürich; professors at Harvard Law School, where Ann had taught a somewhat legendary constitutional law course before being tapped for the Court, attested to the fact that their witty-but-prim colleague still had a tendency to swear loudly in Swiss German when agitated beyond the limits of her endurance. Both Justices had made no secret of their delight when Evie joined them on the bench; and, while Evie usually turned first for advice to Chris (or else to Roberto, whenever getting Chris's perspective seemed like it would be less than helpful), Ann and Rebecca had both been invaluable mentors to her, in their own unique ways.

"You did invite Pat, didn't you?" Ann was asking Rebecca anxiously.

"I did, but he opted not to join us," Rebecca said. "Seemed to think it would be a bit intrusive to turn up at his successor's welcome party."

"I doubt she'd mind, honestly," Evie remarked. "She was just telling me this morning how thrilled she was to have gotten to interact with him as much as she had."

"Well, you know Pat." Rebecca shook her head. "We certainly haven't seen the last of him, bless his heart. I'm convinced that, had cooler heads not prevailed after his stroke, he would have kept at this until he breathed his last. We'll probably have to prize his fingers one by one off the doorframe as he's leaving, every time he comes to visit us from here on out."

"Can you blame him, though?" Ann asked. "What could he possibly do in his retirement that would match being here? I'd certainly be resentful, if I were stuck on the outside of the building, knowing that all of you were in here, still making a difference."

"Retirement might be good for Pat," Evie reasoned. "More time to lecture, to travel, to visit with his grandkids, to work on that book of his that he's been threatening to write for who knows how long. Surely he won't miss us _that_ much?"

Rebecca and Ann stared at Evie, utterly unconvinced. She raised her hands in defeat.

"Or maybe he will. I'll concede that he's definitely the most sentimental of us."

"Big softie," said Rebecca fondly. "Owen used to call him 'Pat the Bunny' to annoy him."

"Owen could be a rascal like that," Ann explained to Evie.

"And I thought Chris was bad," Evie said.

Ann and Rebecca both laughed.

"Oh, Chris is a _gentleman_ ," Rebecca said. "Filled with passionate opinions about the law, and I dare say about a host of other issues, too; but never obnoxious for the sake of being obnoxious."

"Which Owen sometimes was." Ann smiled, exasperated. "Well-aware of his own brilliance, and determined to flaunt it before everyone else, inside the courtroom and out. Reminded me of some of my more infuriating students, back in the day. It drove Roy crazy."

"It drove Pat crazy. It drove _me_ crazy," Rebecca added.

"And don't misinterpret our kvetching here," Ann clarified for Evie's sake. "We were quite fond of Owen, and of course we were devastated when he passed away as young as he did. But I won't deny that I breathed a sigh of relief when you and Chris turned up, and you were both so..."

"Pleasant," Rebecca supplied.

"Easy-going," Ann concurred. "Just as brilliant as Owen was, both of you, but not belligerent about it."

"Outside of conference, that is," Rebecca winked at Evie.

"Well," said Evie, embarrassed, "thank you."

"It's always interesting to see how the dynamic changes when people transition on and off the bench," Ann continued. "Obviously, this time it won't be quite as drastic as when you and Chris arrived, but still."

"First time in history the Court's ever sat four women at once, to state the glaringly obvious," Rebecca pointed out. "That'll change things."

"In some ways, yes; and in some ways, no," Ann argued. "For the most part, a vote's a vote, and a colleague's a colleague."

"It does send an important signal," Evie rebutted, sitting halfway on the edge of the table. "Just think, it's been less than one hundred years since women even secured the right to vote in elections, and now we're only one seat away from reaching representational parity at the highest level of one branch of government."

"A branch led by a woman, too," added Rebecca, with a proud nod in Evie's direction.

"The only branch of government that isn't made up of elected officials, though," Ann noted. "And who knows when the other two branches will catch up? There's a lot of latent misogyny still simmering below the surface of society, all across the country."

"But it's still something," Rebecca said firmly.

"Hello?" said a voice from the doorway, and the three Justices turned in unison to see their newest colleague peering around the doorframe. "I know this little shindig isn't technically supposed to start for another 15 minutes, but I thought I'd see if you needed any help setting up..."

"Oh, heavens, that is incredibly thoughtful of you, but you should _not_ be setting up your own welcome party!" Rebecca exclaimed, throwing up her hands in exasperation. "Honestly, where are the guys when we need them?"

"Please do come in, though, if you want to take a seat and just chat with us, while we make sure everything's in order," Evie offered, pulling out the chair next to her at the table.

Jennifer Chang tentatively stepped into the room, closed the door halfway behind her, and teetered expertly on her stiletto heels across the carpet to the offered chair. Evie had never been much of a fashionista, even if she always dressed in a perfectly acceptable manner for her workplace and owned one or two pairs of shoes that always earned her compliments; but she couldn't help but be impressed and even slightly intimidated by the astute sense of style that Jenny had displayed every time she'd seen her. (Rebecca, like Evie, always dressed appropriately but not notably; and Ann, while ever elegant in her presentation, attired herself as was appropriate to her more-mature age.)

"How's the first day going?" Evie asked as Jenny settled herself into the chair.

"Not bad at all," Jenny said cheerfully. "I stopped getting too choked up to function every few minutes, pretty soon after you checked in with me this morning. So my office is all set up by now, and I've just started reading the petitioners' brief in _Miller v. Bradley_."

"Getting to work right away?" Ann raised her eyebrows. "That's impressive. I think I was too overwhelmed to do anything substantive until after lunch, on my first day."

"I didn't do _anything_ on my first day, but that's only because all of the boys felt obligated to stop by my office, and did so," said Rebecca, who had been the first woman ever appointed to the Supreme Court. "To make sure the new girl on the bench was holding up well enough, I guess. It was very nice of them, but it also meant that I was only able to read a line at a time of anything that I picked up, which was frustrating."

"I can only imagine," grinned Jenny. "Thanks so much for putting together this whole spread, by the way."

"Our pleasure," said Evie warmly. "We're glad to have you with us."

The door of the room unexpectedly and rather vigorously swung open.

"Have you seen Evie?" Chris poked his head into the dining room, frowning. "Oh, there you are. I thought this wasn't starting until noon?"

"It's not, but since you're here, could you call downstairs and ask for some disposable napkins, plates, and cups to be sent up, before things get going?" Rebecca asked.

Chris started, then bristled slightly.

"You want _me_ to call downstairs?"

"I think it seems fair, considering the three of us organized everything else for this party," Rebecca replied evenly, gesturing around her.

"Baked cupcakes and cookies," Evie explained.

"Bought sandwiches and wine," Ann chimed in.

"Only if you have time, though," Rebecca added.

Chris shot Evie a look that clearly indicated how betrayed he felt by her complicity in this dismissal, then turned on his heel and retreated with a palpable degree of indignation. Evie strongly suspected that he would appear in her chambers later that day to complain about his treatment at the hands of the three female Justices.

Jenny appeared both startled and impressed by the entire interaction that she had just witnessed.

"Damn," she said, staring at the empty doorframe. "Think he'll actually go make the call, now?"

"Of course he will," said Ann confidently. "As we were just saying, Chris is a gentleman, and a responsible one, at that."

True to Ann's prediction, Chris did call food services downstairs, and the necessary supplies were delivered just around when the male Justices arrived at the dining room to greet their newest colleague. (Roberto, to his credit, did stay to help the women clean up after the party had petered to an end, but Evie suspected that this was mostly because he and Jenny were by that point deep in a discussion about the definition of probable cause under the Fourth Amendment.) And, true to Evie's prediction, a visibly ruffled Chris turned up in her office later that day.

"So, what do you think of Jenny?" she asked him before he could say anything.

"Spirited," he replied after a moment's thought. "But I guess anyone coming in from the Ninth Circuit would be expected to have a high degree of confidence from the start; it really is its own little high court, out there."

"I like her a lot," Evie smiled. "Interesting, funny, clearly smart as a whip. And don't get me wrong, I couldn't ask for better friends and mentors than Rebecca and Ann, but it'll be nice to have a woman closer to my age on the Court."

Chris frowned at her.

"Does it really make _that_ much of a difference?"

Evie raised her eyebrows at him.

"Yes, Chris. It actually does."

Chris looked even more stung than he had upon entering her office. Evie sighed.

"Look, Chris, you know that I adore you. You know that I adore Roberto, and Ron and Paul and Harry. But there are some things that you don't really understand about my lived experiences because you've never had to exist in this world as a woman. And that isn't a good thing or a bad thing – just a truth. I suspect that, if you asked Paul about Roberto joining the Court, he might say something similar about the comfort of having another person of color around, even if his and Rob's experiences have been extremely different."

"I like to think that I'm reasonably perceptive when it comes to your perspectives," Chris said defensively.

"You try to be," said Evie kindly. "I'll certainly give you that much."

"What does that mean?" snapped Chris.

"I could tell that you were annoyed when Rebecca asked if you would get the plates and napkins earlier today," Evie began.

"I'm very fond of Rebecca, but even you have to admit that she can be incredibly bossy sometimes," Chris interrupted her.

Evie let an uncomfortable silence rest between them before beginning again.

"I could tell that you were annoyed with Rebecca, even though she asked you nicely to help out with something that wasn't at all unreasonable..."

"It's not _my_ job to help plan the parties around here!" Chris argued.

"Well, it's not mine, either, but _someone_ has to do it," Evie retorted.

"No one _has_ to do anything. It's not like the Constitution requires new members of the Court to be fêted on arrival."

"Of course not, but I remember that you were pretty delighted when everyone greeted us that way. It's a nice tradition, and it's not like it happens all that often."

"That's another thing," Chris grumbled. "I didn't appreciate you three belittling me, especially in front of a new member of the Court."

"How on earth were we...?"

"Making it seem like I wasn't pulling my weight for something that was never my responsibility in the first place?"

"OK," said Evie in the voice that she used to reserve for her son when he was getting too cheeky, "first of all, you could have asked _weeks_ ago what you could do to help. That's what Ann and I did, when Rebecca sent out that email suggesting that we plan something. It wouldn't even have had to have been something time-consuming; just contributing some food, or money to pay for food, would have been great. Second, when Rebecca made her request today, you _could_ have just said, 'Sure, I'll get on that right away,' or, 'Sorry, I'm wrapped up in something,' rather than making a production out of her ask and the fact that you _clearly_ thought it was beneath you..."

"Again, this was _not_ in the job description, as I understood it when I signed up," Chris asserted.

"But it needed to get done, and you knew that one of us would have had to do it, if you hadn't," Evie pointed out. "We weren't asking you to do anything that we wouldn't have been willing to do ourselves, if you had said no. So, why get so self-important and act as if we shouldn't even have asked you? We're nine equal votes on this Court; you're not superior to any one of the rest of us."

Technically, Evie could argue with some legitimacy that her role as Chief Justice actually made Chris ever so slightly _inferior_ to her in official stature. But given that Chris was fuming silently as it was, she decided not to irk him further with this reminder.

"Oh, just go ahead and say it already, Evie," Chris burst out. "You think I was being sexist by acting as if party-planning was below me, but not below you or Rebecca or Ann."

"Your words, not mine," said Evie delicately.

"I _don't_ think it's below me; I just don't have any interest in it."

"Neither do I, Chris. Neither does Ann, really. And yet we still pitched in when asked, without too much hemming and hawing. Maybe it's a gendered thing, maybe it's not; but that behavior is pretty consistent with a pattern that I've witnessed throughout my entire life."

"Are you sure you're not just unnecessarily reading a feminist argument into this whole situation?" Chris asked. "It feels sort of like your ludicrous contention that the Queen of the Night isn't the villain of _The Magic Flute_."

"She's really not."

"She spends the entire opera trying to kill Sarastro."

"No, she spends the entire opera trying to rescue her daughter from being brainwashed by Sarastro's misogynistic cult. Killing Sarastro only becomes a part of her plan when she runs out of all other options. And if she were a man, they'd cast Liam Neeson in the role and make an action film about her epic and just fight against her daughter's heinous kidnappers."

Chris rolled his eyes.

"You _know_ Rebecca likes you, Chris," Evie said. "In fact, she and Ann were just telling me how much they liked you, before you and Jenny showed up. If Rebecca's treating you with the directness with which she would treat me or Ann, that means that she's comfortable enough around you that she doesn't feel like she needs to modify her language to accommodate your feelings."

"Why would anyone ever need to do that?" Chris asked irritably.

"You have no idea," Evie sighed. "If Harry had come in, instead of you, how do you think he would have reacted if Rebecca had asked him for a hand, in exactly the way she asked you?"

"I regret to say that I'm not privy to the innermost thoughts of Henry Clark and therefore can't possibly predict what he would have done," Chris said drily.

"Says the man who professes to be able to channel the will of the Framers themselves," Evie scoffed. "I'll tell you, then. Harry would have flat-out refused to help in any way, unless Rebecca had framed her ask as more of a plea for chivalrous aid, in her foolish and helpless moment of need."

"Honestly?" Chris looked less than convinced.

"Yes, honestly. All three of us do our fair share of hedging to avoid unnecessary conflict."

"It sounds somewhat manipulative."

"You and a fair portion of the world call it duplicitous; I call it a learned means of survival in an unbalanced workplace." Evie frowned at Chris. "Let me guess: After you called for the supplies, you went and complained to Ron about how Rebecca was pushing you around."

"That's framing it a bit harshly," replied Chris, flushing.

"Well, it reflects how you feel, doesn't it? Even if we can both agree that a polite request is hardly tantamount to workplace harassment. And now, in about a week, Ron will probably bring up in passing to Rebecca that you felt like she had been bullying you, and Rebecca will then have to tell Ron that all she did was ask you to do her a small favor that she would have asked anyone else on this Court to do. And he probably still will continue to believe you over her, because, as wonderful as Ron is, the Supreme Court is not immune to gendered expectations of deference."

Chris scowled.

"Are you done lecturing me?"

"Since you don't seem to be absorbing much of what I'm saying, I guess I am."

With a sigh of frustration, Evie slumped against the back of her chair, resigned. Chris continued to frown at her for a long moment, and then shook his head.

"Look, Evie, you must realize that I've never seen you as anything less than an intellectual and professional equal."

"I know," she said wearily. "But that doesn't mean that there aren't larger societal pressures at work around the way you think about this Court and even our relationship. I promise I'm not trying to make you feel bad, Chris. I'm just trying to explain my perspective, which, seeing as we're not a monolith, may not even be quite the same as Rebecca's or Ann's."

"Or Jenny's."

"Or Jenny's," Evie agreed. "I keep forgetting that there are four of us now. The Three Ladies, plus a spare."

"Or maybe the Three Ladies, plus one Queen of the Night?"

"I'll choose to take that as a compliment, if you're implying what I think you are."

A knock on the door made Chris turn, and he stepped out of the way as Jenny Chang peered into the room.

"I'm so sorry!" she said, starting to close the door. "I'll come back later..."

"By all means," Chris objected, gently pulling the door open so that Jenny could enter. "I was just leaving."

Evie threw up a hand in a parting wave as Chris strode out the door. Jenny shot a worried look after him.

"I hope I wasn't disturbing anything?" she asked Evie.

"Just chatting," Evie sighed. "How's _Miller_?"

"More engrossing than I would have anticipated." Jenny glanced again out the door that Chris had just exited, and then dropped into the chair opposite Evie. "I have to confess, I didn't really have a chance to talk to him in much depth at the party earlier today, and I'm not really sure what to expect."

"Because of _Bellington_?"

Jenny nodded. During her confirmation process, it had come out that she had been in a long-term relationship with another woman throughout most of her law school years. The press had, predictably, given the revelation a disproportionate degree of sensationalist coverage, and numerous conservative Senators had grilled Jenny on the issue as stridently as they could throughout all three days of her hearings. In spite of the unwavering support displayed by President Santos for his nominee, and in spite of the positive support of numerous advocacy groups and prominent individuals, Jenny had only squeaked by with a majority of the Senate voting in her favor, and that was only because the Democrats held more than half the chamber. Evie hadn't brought up the whole matter until now, simply because she couldn't begin to imagine how traumatic coping with the very vocal negative response must have been for Jenny.

"Look," she reassured her new colleague, "I can't try to explain why Chris holds the views that he does, but I can promise you that he's always been unfailingly polite and friendly on a personal level with everyone who has ever worked in this building."

"Well, that's good to know," laughed Jenny shakily. "I was a little nervous he'd dislike me on principle."

"Never," Evie smiled. "I can't guarantee that you'll be able to put all of the media nonsense behind you forever, but now that you're here, you shouldn't worry about the reactions of any of the people on this Court. We're all delighted to have you join us."

"Even Ron Dreifort?" asked Jenny skeptically.

"Even Ron," Evie promised. "If he's acting curmudgeonly towards you, that's just because it generally takes him a while to warm up to new people."

"Got it." Jenny sighed. "I really can't thank you enough for how kind and thoughtful you've been throughout all of this, Evie. The note that you sent me during my hearings really buoyed my spirits."

"I thought you could use a little moral support. It's a scary process, as I remember only too well."

"God, yes. And you didn't even have a bombshell revelation drop in the middle of yours."

A shiver suddenly ran up Evie's spine, and she pulled her suit jacket off the back of her chair and over her shoulders.

"No, I didn't," she agreed. "I was lucky."

Jenny looked at Evie somewhat quizzically, but simply nodded.

"Well, I mainly just came by to say thank you for everything, since I didn't quite have the presence of mind to do so earlier. For the party, too."

"That was all Rebecca," Evie explained. "She's the one you should really thank."

"I will. Oh, and I was also wondering if there's anything special that I need to wear for the official photographs tomorrow?"

Evie could remember asking Ann the exact same thing on her first day on the Court. She had wondered then if it was something that Chris had even thought to ask any of their colleagues, and she still doubted that he had.

"Whatever you'd like," she told Jenny. The most important thing, after all, was the black robe that would go over whatever Jenny chose to wear, and that was uniform for all nine of them.


	9. Slavery Nor Involuntary Servitude

AMENDMENT XIII

 _Passed by Congress January 31, 1865. Ratified December 6, 1865._

 **Note:** A portion of Article IV, section 2, of the Constitution was superseded by the 13th amendment.

Section 1.

Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction.

Section 2.

Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.

* * *

"My apologies for keeping you waiting," Chris said to the young man who had just been shown into his chambers. "Please, take a seat."

The young man did so, his demeanor at once respectful but relaxed. The calmness with which he conducted himself caught Chris's attention. As even appellate-level clerks tended to be slightly jittery about interviewing at the Supreme Court, this was unusual.

"So, you're finishing up a clerkship with Judge O'Shaughnessy on the Third Circuit?" he asked, wishing he had had more time to review the applications that had been sent over to him before he began meeting with candidates.

"Yes, sir," said the young man. He looked vaguely familiar to Chris, for some reason.

"He's known for being an extreme stickler for details," Chris continued, folding his hands. "Also prone to delivering frequent lectures."

The young man grinned.

"Judge O'Shaughnessy's not the first boss I've had who's fit both of those criteria," he said. "And I'd say he's not the most extreme example of either attribute, either."

"So you like having tough bosses?"

"Depends on the boss," the young man shrugged. "But I guess you could say that I gravitate towards people who have something to teach their aides, and who want to make sure that what they teach is learned in as much depth as possible."

 _Aide_. Something about that choice of word triggered an association in Chris's mind, and he furrowed his brow as he considered the young man before him.

"Ah, of course," he said after a moment. "I knew you looked familiar."

"It's been a while, sir. I wouldn't have expected you to remember."

"I don't think I'd ever heard anyone refer to you as 'Charles,' so your application threw me," Chris added, pulling the document in question from the top of a stack on his desk and glancing at it. "And you seem to have left off of your résumé a rather prestigious position that you formerly held."

"I didn't think that my positions in the West Wing were all that germane to my legal experience," Charlie Young explained.

"You honestly didn't ask President Bartlet to write you a letter of recommendation for a Supreme Court clerkship?" Chris asked in disbelief.

"He wrote me a letter of recommendation for law school." Charlie shrugged. "I've figured that, from that point on, it's been incumbent upon me to build a name for myself within the legal world, on my own merits."

Chris stared at Charlie.

"Although of course he always _offers_ to put in a good word," Charlie added uncertainly, as if worried that Chris was getting the wrong impression of the former President. "I just never take him up on it. He's an economist, after all, not a lawyer."

"Well, I give you credit for wanting to forge your own independent identity, but you'll have to forgive me for being surprised that you wouldn't leverage that bit of information to your advantage." Chris paused. "Did Chief Justice Lang and Justice Mendoza figure it out?"

"Chief Justice Lang did, almost immediately. It took Justice Mendoza a little longer, but I didn't interact with him as much as I did with you and the Chief Justice."

"I see." Chris glanced back down at Charlie's CV. "It looks like you had an exceptionally stellar academic record at Georgetown – research for Professors Reed and Gonzalez, summer positions with the Criminal Division of DOJ and Akin Gump, graduated _magna cum laude_ , and jumped straight into your clerkship on the Third Circuit. Ah," he added as he spotted the one item on Charlie's application that he had circled.

"Is something wrong?" Charlie asked.

"Not at all," replied Chris. "Although I _did_ want to ask you about this law review article that you have listed here."

"I thought you would," said Charlie, settling back in his chair.

" _Intangible Factors:_ Dred Scott _,_ Plessy _, and the Justice of Reparations_ ," Chris read. "Care to explain?"

"Most of the article is exactly what you would expect, given the title: an overview of the history of slavery and segregation in the United States, and the Supreme Court cases that perpetuated those norms or repealed them. But I'm guessing you're more interested in the reparations bit?"

"Indeed. Enlighten me, please."

Charlie grinned.

"It's actually not what you're probably expecting."

"What am I probably expecting?" challenged Chris.

"For me to have argued that courts have a moral mandate to uphold measures that proactively attempt to 'equalize' black communities, on account of the comparative disadvantage at which so many start. Fair housing. Affirmative action. School busing, when it was still a practice. Policy as a form of reparations for slavery and segregation, not to mention for the disproportionate discrimination that _still_ impacts African Americans in this day and age."

Chris raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"And?"

"Well, of course I don't disagree with any of those policy measures, and I think that a very reasonable argument for upholding any of them could be made under the Equal Protection Clause," Charlie shrugged. "I also express as a premise of the entire article that the community is owed reparations, and I stand by that. But my ultimate conclusion is that the courts shouldn't be the ones deciding what form those remedies should take, in the piecemeal fashion that arises naturally from the fact that they have no control over which cases are brought before them. What would be most impactful is an in-depth Congressional review of the history and legacy of the oppression of blacks in the United States, and a set of legislatively-enforced recommendations based on the findings of that review."

"You'd really hand that sort of decision over to Congress?"

"It's been done before," Charlie pointed out. "The Civil Liberties Act of 1988 awarded over 80,000 Japanese Americans a check of $20,000 each, as an apology for what happened during World War II, and set up an education fund to ensure that future generations were aware of the history of the internment. I'm not saying that a Congressional commission would find that awarding monetary sums to all black Americans who were descendants of slaves would be practical, or even possible. But it would be a useful first step to even establish such a commission, and to have historians and policy experts and other individuals testify before it. That way, all of the requisite information needed to make those sorts of decisions would be available to Congress when determining the most useful policies to enact. It couldn't hurt, in any event, given that these are the people whom we elect to craft legislation that impacts all Americans, African Americans included."

"Hmm." Much as Chris instinctively distrusted more or less anything that Congress did, he had to concede that Charlie had put forth an intriguing idea. "And what do you see the role of the courts as being, in the midst of all of this?"

"I think that the courts would continue to have the duty of upholding the constitutional equality of all citizens," said Charlie. "I just think that the burden of pushing the nation towards a more racially-egalitarian society shouldn't be left to the courts alone. The Supreme Court had to issue a follow-up to _Brown v. Board of Education_ a year after its original opinion, because the Court couldn't _force_ jurisdictions to begin desegregating their schools immediately after the 1953 ruling was handed down. By contrast, Congress has the enforcement power to make what it legislates stick, so the Thirteenth Amendment could actually abolish slavery, and the Civil Rights Act of 1964 could actually end segregation in public places."

"Interesting," Chris muttered, and he meant it. "So, why the desire to clerk for the Supreme Court, then? Why not go entrench yourself in a Senator's office for the long haul?"

"I'm not sure Congressional politics are for me, sir," laughed Charlie. "Having viewed the Hill for so long from the vantage point of the White House has left me a little bit jaded. I think that Congress has an extremely important role to play, of course, but I'd prefer to work somewhere that values solid arguments over party lines. At least until I feel like I can make my arguments so waterproof that not even the most partisan agenda in Congress could sink them."

"I'm afraid you may be setting yourself up for the impossible."

"Maybe." Charlie grinned. "But sometimes it takes an overdose of idealism to mitigate seemingly-incurable pessimism."

Chris nodded slowly. Then he asked Charlie a question about a Third Circuit ruling concerning asylum-seekers, and the interview veered onto a much more expected course for the next half hour. But as things were wrapping up, Chris couldn't help but prod a matter that had been dozing at the back of his mind since the beginning of the interview.

"We discussed affirmative action a long time ago, didn't we?" he asked as Charlie was gathering his coat and umbrella. "The day that Chief Justice Lang and I were nominated, I think."

Charlie allowed himself a small smile.

"I also didn't think you'd remember that, Your Honor."

"You tried arguing then that affirmative action was necessary as a form of reparations for the past."

"And you told me that I should instead be arguing that admitting minority students would benefit the universities themselves and society as a whole in the future."

"You seemed fairly convinced by the argument at the time, if I recall correctly. So?"

Charlie met Chris's appraising stare.

"I thought carefully about what you said, and I don't think you're wrong," Charlie explained. "Anticipating gains in the future is important to the affirmative action debate, and it's a compelling and attractive argument. But I think it's a pretty big oversight not to bring the past into the equation."

"Why's that?"

"Because it lets universities off the hook. It lets society off the hook. It's a way of allowing people with power to pat themselves on the back, without looking some hard truths in the face and coming to terms with them."

The young man spoke passionately, but not confrontationally. Chris appreciated that much, especially given that he himself was almost certainly implicated in that category of people with power.

"Surely we don't need to self-flagellate unnecessarily, though, if the most egregious racial problems in the country are being addressed appropriately?"

"Your Honor, even if I were convinced that universities _were_ addressing the most egregious racial problems in the country appropriately, I still wouldn't argue against reminding people of the inequalities that existed in the past. Racial divides run deep in this country, deeper than can be rooted out in only one generation, and forgetting where we came from seems like a sure first step to returning back to that point. Besides, as one of my professors used to point out, try as we might, we can't legislate or litigate culture."

Chris assumed that he still looked as unconvinced as he felt, as Charlie glanced at him to assess how Chris was receiving this fulmination, and then continued.

"I'm not saying this because I think that well-intentioned, conscientious individuals deserve to go around feeling guilty as hell all the time. It's just clear that this country isn't nearly as 'post-racial' as it pretends to be, and that it's going to take a lot of very constant, proactive reminders to keep things moving forward, or at least from moving backwards."

"But I still don't see why it makes a difference what mechanism is imposed to ensure that minority students are being admitted to élite universities," Chris pressed. "So long as they're there to change the dialogue in the classroom, does it really matter? And don't some minority students suffer from a fair degree of insecurity, due to their persistent fears that they were only admitted to their élite university _because_ of their race?"

" _Bakke_ states that race may be considered as _a_ factor in college admissions," Charlie countered. "I don't think anyone believes that students should be admitted to a university without being qualified to succeed in that environment. And, with all due respect, sir, I'm not sure you've understood anything that I've just said."

"No, I'm pretty sure I understand," Chris clarified. "I just don't agree."

Charlie bowed his head.

"Then I guess we'll have to agree to disagree, Your Honor."

Charlie departed with a demeanor as relaxed as that with which he had arrived in Chris's office, but Chris perceived that the prospective clerk's mood had shifted from quiet confidence to the sort of carefreeness that came of counting oneself out of the running. Chris leaned back in his chair, frowning in thought, and then he picked up his phone and dialed Ron Dreifort.

"Yeah?"

"Ron, you mentioned once in passing that one of your former clerks currently is with the Solicitor General's Office," Chris asked without preamble.

"That's right. Why?"

"How did that work out?"

"How did that work out?" Ron repeated. "Well, I think she actually wanted a job with the White House Counsel, but I'd say she can't complain much, having ended up where she is..."

"No, no," Chris interjected, picking a pen up off his desk and twirling it idly through his fingers, "I more meant, how did it work for you to have a liberal clerk?"

"What liberal clerk?" Ron asked without a hint of irony.

"The one working in the Solicitor General's Office," Chris clarified, tapping the tip of the pen against the surface of his desk in irritation.

To his further annoyance, Ron let out a loud bark of laughter, followed by a few dull thuds that Chris had to assume meant that Ron was pounding his desk with a fist, as he so often did when amused.

"Oh, Chris," Ron sighed, "Chris, Chris, Chris. You should know me better than that. Have I _ever_ had a liberal clerk, to your recollection?"

"No, but I had assumed..."

"Look, I can't for the life of me understand why Ainsley is so determined to work for administrations whose political ideology she abhors, but I can assure you that she's a Fed Soc girl, through and through. Probably driving the Santos folks up the wall, to be honest, knowing her."

"Probably helping them improve their arguments, you mean," Chris corrected him.

"Eh, well." Chris could hear the shrug in Ron's voice. "All the better for us, isn't it? Means we don't need to waste our time listening to the government bungle its reasoning with whatever crazy rationales they would have used."

"Indeed."

"I assume you just interviewed Jed Bartlet's former aide?" Ron guessed. "Impressive young man. Didn't know much about him, other than what I vaguely remembered from the news reports about that awful incident in Rosslyn, all those years ago. Far too leftist for me, of course, but I do hope that Evie picks him up. It'd be nice to see him around the courthouse."

"Evie?" Chris asked, alarmed.

"Yeah, I ran into her and Roberto in the hallway earlier, and they were discussing Mr. Young at the time. They both seemed enthusiastic, but, Evie being Evie, she was being much more demonstrative about it than Roberto was. And it sounds like you're joining the club yourself?"

"I'm still not convinced it's a good idea, but I found him to be very thoughtful. He doesn't think that courts are the correct remedy for all social ills, for one thing, and so is that much more enlightened than most liberals I know."

"Huh. Well, do what you think is right for you, but you might have to arm-wrestle the Chief over this one, not to mention probably Roberto and Paul and Rebecca, if Evie doesn't sweet-talk them into giving her what she wants, first."

"I see. Well, thanks for the advice, Ron."

"Any time. And cheer up. You'll end up with the one of the best batches of clerks the nation can offer, regardless of what happens."

Of course Ron was right, but as he hung up the phone, Chris couldn't help but feel slightly resentful about the whole situation. He was accustomed to being a sought-out rarity – for commencement ceremonies, for bar association lectures, for law school addresses – and it rankled to be playing second fiddle to Evie in this matter, because if offered a choice between himself and Evie, Chris _knew_ whose chambers Charlie would opt to join. He couldn't blame the young man, frankly; a clerkship with the Chief Justice was one of the most stellar legal credentials a rising lawyer could hope to place on a résumé, and no doubt Charlie would find it infinitely easier to support Evie's expansive legal reasoning than he would that of a notorious originalist like Chris.

"Justice Mulready? Your next interview is here."

"Thanks," replied Chris, shoving the pen with which he had been fiddling into a Georgetown Law mug next to his keyboard. There would be time later to figure out how best to talk Evie over to his side. And, for once, Chris knew he had a fighting chance to wrangle a genuine victory in the matter, rather than yet another well-fought stalemate.

* * *

Author's Note: The commission idea is stolen wholesale from H.R. 40, a bill advocating for reparations for slavery and its continuing impact, which has been repeatedly introduced in the U.S. House of Representatives by real-life Congressman John Conyers, Jr. (I figure that Charlie, coming from a policy-oriented background, would probably be more interested in the role of elected officials in dealing with race issues, than would most aspiring Supreme Court clerks who had focused on the courts for most of their lives.)


	10. Power to Lay and Collect Taxes

AMENDMENT XVI

 _Passed by Congress July 2, 1909. Ratified February 3, 1913._

 **Note:** Article I, section 9, of the Constitution was modified by amendment 16.

The Congress shall have power to lay and collect taxes on incomes, from whatever source derived, without apportionment among the several States, and without regard to any census or enumeration.

* * *

The Mulreadys resided in a tidy brick house on a quiet, sloping street in Tenleytown that was lined with old maple trees whose branches arced lazily over the broad lawns fronting each residence. In the sultry haze of a Washington summer, the humidity lay dense enough over the District that not even the most stubborn breeze could squirm its way through the canopy of maple leaves, brilliant green in the gleam of a late afternoon sun. Evie thought it was a bit silly that the sprinklers were on in front of the house, given that it was still hot enough that most of the water was likely to evaporate off the lawn before sundown; but she knew that Chris would give her unrelenting grief for being a tree-hugging conservationist if she said anything too direct, and she knew better than to push him too far on trivial issues at a time like this. Besides, it really was not in the best of taste to critique a person's decisions about their own home, especially when invited over as a guest.

The commotion from around the side of the house indicated that there was already quite a crowd assembled in the backyard, but the Langs opted for the front door, which Louise had assured them would be left unlocked. And, in fact, Louise herself appeared in the kitchen just as Evie was trying to figure out how best to cram a six-pack of beer into the overcrowded refrigerator.

"Evie! Bill!" Louise did her best to give both of her guests hugs without knocking anything off of the counters. "So glad you both could make it."

"Hey, Louise, good to see you," said Evie.

"A replenishment of supplies, as requested," said Bill, offering Louise a grocery bag brimming with packets of hamburger buns. "And thank you for having us, as always."

"You two are lifesavers," Louise beamed. "Oh, goodness, Evie, I can just take those outside and drop them in the cooler there, save you the trouble of having to play Tetris with the stuff in the fridge..."

"And just when I almost had it solved," Evie said in mock lament. "Can I help you bring anything else outside?"

"The buns, I guess, since we were literally about to run out. Oh, and maybe give me three seconds to grab more chips and guacamole."

Bill, sensing that the kitchen was overcrowded with three people trying to maneuver through it, by this point had wandered into the den and was asking Adam about the extremely violent video game that he was playing. Evie glanced out the door of the kitchen and then took a step closer to Louise, who was pouring tortilla chips from a bag into a bowl.

"Everything OK?" she asked gently.

"With me? Absolutely. With Shannon? Better and better every day, thank god; she's hanging out in the backyard with everyone else. With Adam, I have no idea, but everyone tells me that boys his age are just bad at communicating, and he seems normal enough."

"And Chris?" Evie hoped she didn't sound too anxious.

"Oh, fine. Still sulking about work a little, to be honest." Louise shook her head. "I really thought he'd have gotten over that by now."

"Well, given everything that's been going on, I can't really blame him for being upset about things generally; and besides, it's been less than a week since the term ended. Is it too awkward for us to be here?"

"Evie, it's my house and my Fourth of July party, too, and I will be highly offended if you leave just because my husband is displaying less maturity than my teenage son."

"Touché," sighed Evie. "Although, speaking of immature spouses, I think momentarily _my_ husband will be doing his utmost to beat your teenage son at whatever game he's got in there."

"Something horrifically bloody. I don't ask." Louise frowned as she dug through the fridge to find the guacamole. "Did I hear correctly that you might have a case touching on violent video games next term?"

"Yup."

"Can you _do_ something about this?" Louise asked, gesturing in the direction of the den, from which Adam and Bill could be heard debating something animatedly over the sounds of artificial machine gunfire.

"Hmm, I'm not sure it would be wise of me to opine on the potential outcome of a pending case until I've heard all of the arguments."

"Spoken like a true jurist," laughed Louise. "It just bothers me that Adam seems to get so much enjoyment out of, I don't know, running over prostitutes with cars, or gunning crowds of people down with assault weapons. And I fully realize that he's more than intelligent enough to be able to differentiate between a video game and reality, but I can't help it. Was Jake much of a gamer, as a teenager?"

"Not at all. So I imagine Bill's absolutely loving having Adam as a gaming co-conspirator."

Louise shook her head again.

"Well, let's see if we can drag them away from their toys," she said, nudging the fridge shut with one foot as she juggled the chips and guacamole. "Adam? Come outside and be sociable at some point in the near future, will you?"

"Ah, no!" Adam roared in non-response. "How am I at less than 50% health already?"

Evie poked her head into the den, where her husband and Chris's son were seated on opposite ends of the couch, both intently trying to shoot their way through some urban warzone or another.

"Hey," she said to Bill, "you planning to come say hello to everyone?"

"Mmhm," answered Bill, his brow creased in concentration.

Evie leaned against the doorframe, unimpressed.

" _Really_?"

"Hold on," Bill muttered, his eyes still fixed on the TV screen, "almost... there..."

Something blew up violently on Bill's half of the screen, and Adam whooped victoriously.

"Aw, not fair, she was distracting me," Bill argued, pointing at Evie, who rolled her eyes, dropped the bag of hamburger buns in Bill's lap, and turned to follow after Louise.

"Very mature," she said sarcastically to Bill as he caught up with her. "How old are you, again?"

"About four times the age of the kid who so humiliatingly kicked my ass just now," pouted Bill. "From now on, he's going to refer to me not as 'Chief Justice Lang's Husband', but as 'That Loser I Blew Up in Less Than Three Minutes'."

"Oh, woe is you," answered Evie, letting Bill hold open the back door for her. "Pity you can't take solace in anything like, you know, your Ph.D., or your university tenure, or your international renown in the particle physics world. Also, haven't you told the Mulready kids to call you Bill yet? I know I've certainly told them to call me Evie, although it wouldn't surprise me if Chris still refers to me as 'Chief Justice Lang' in front of them, for the sake of propriety..."

"Of course I have, but you have to understand that the Mulready kids are, for all intents and purposes, part of your legal world," Bill winked. "I'd bet good money that, even if I introduce myself as Bill to everyone at this party, my identity will still remain 'Chief Justice Lang's Husband' to everyone but Chris and Louise."

Evie paused in the dappled shade of an oak tree just off the deck.

"Does that bother you?" she asked.

"I mean, it's not really different from when Jake was younger and everyone at his school knew me as 'Jake Lang's Dad', is it?" Bill shrugged. "I just have to remind myself going into these sorts of contexts that that's who I am around this crowd. It's not an _inaccurate_ description."

"No, but..."

Evie couldn't quite place her finger on what was bothering her. After all, it wasn't like she hadn't been to conferences with Bill at which she was unofficially labeled "Dr. Lang's Wife" for the duration of the weekend. Perhaps it was just strange to know that nowadays, if she turned up on the UMD campus, everyone – including Bill's colleagues and students – would know her instantly as "Chief Justice Lang" without any sort of introduction. Perhaps it was just strange to know that she now had a degree of recognition in her husband's professional world that was completely independent of his standing, and that he did not have an equivalent degree of recognition in hers.

"Stop fretting, Evie," chuckled Bill, as if reading her mind. "I don't mind it, truly. If I did, don't you think I would have started politely bowing out of these sorts of events a long time ago?"

"Fair enough," Evie conceded. "Well, I'm glad to have you here, in any case. You can defend my honor if Chris gets too bellicose."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that – I can only imagine the scandalous headlines. Are you going to go say hello to him?"

Evie glanced across the lawn, where Chris, a pair of barbecue tongs in one hand, was listening to Evie's old Fourth Circuit colleague Colin McDonnell pontificate about something. In addition to a highly skeptical expression about whatever argument Colin was putting forth, Chris was sporting a bright red apron emblazoned with the words _Chef Supreme_ , a gag gift from some of his former clerks familiar with the Mulreadys' annual Fourth of July barbecue.

"I'll wait until he's free," Evie said. "Here, if you could take care of those buns, I'll drop the beers off over there..."

Shannon Mulready was propped in a deck chair right next to the drinks. Her eyes were closed, which only redirected attention to the fine row of stitches that zigzagged over her right cheekbone and the deep purple bruises that covered that side of her face, but she opened one eyelid halfway as Evie knelt down, opened a cooler, and began shoving cans of beer into the ice.

"I reminded my dad to make the sign that you proposed last year, but I think he willfully forgot," she told Evie, who forced the final can of beer into the least-crowded corner of the cooler and turned around.

"Hey, there," she said to Shannon, shutting the lid. "I thought you were asleep."

"Nah, just resting." The bruise-free half of Shannon's mouth quirked into a smile. "And trying to avoid talking to people."

"I see," said Evie, mildly flattered that she was apparently not considered "people" in Shannon's lexicon. "What sign did I propose your dad make?"

"You don't remember?" Shannon smirked. "For the burger-fixing table: 'Strictly Construct Your Own (Warren E.) Burger Here.' With most of the name in parentheses, of course."

Evie groaned.

"That's basically how Dad reacted when I reminded him."

"I'm embarrassed to have said anything in the first place."

"I happen to like terrible puns," Shannon shrugged. "Would have written out a sign myself, if not for, you know..."

She raised her right arm slightly and let it fall back against her side in its sling. Evie winced involuntarily, then pulled a folding chair a few inches closer to Shannon and sat down.

"I know you're probably sick of people asking this, but how are you doing?"

Shannon shrugged again, this time scowling.

"I guess as fine as anyone ever is with a sprained shoulder, and a broken leg, and a few fractured ribs, and a face that looks like it was mauled by a mountain lion."

"Your dad said the doctors think you'll be more or less back to normal by the end of the summer."

"Thank god for that," grumbled Shannon. "Starting college will be crazy enough, without having to deal with crutches or wheelchairs or what have you."

"You'll be absolutely fine. That's what I keep telling your dad, whenever he starts fussing."

"Oh, Jesus, does he really stress out about me at work?" Shannon huffed in an indignant manner that reminded Evie uncannily of Chris.

"It's just something that happens," she told Shannon, trying to hide her amusement. "We all stress out about our kids at each other. It's an inexhaustible topic of conversation during our lunches, when we're supposed to refrain from discussing cases."

Shannon eyed Evie curiously, opened her mouth as if on the verge of asking something, and then closed it instead. Evie raised her eyebrows.

"I take it the flow of information may run both ways?"

"Well, he's sensible enough not to bore us with the finer details of the law at the dinner table, but it's pretty obvious when something's driving Dad up the wall at work," Shannon explained. "He sort of lives under his own personalized little storm cloud until he's over it, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah."

Evie glanced back over at Chris, who was now flipping burgers on the grill. Even at a distance, the rich aroma of cooking meat mingled tantalizingly with the earthy scent of cut grass.

"You're not avoiding him, are you?" asked Shannon.

"What?"

"Not that I'm not enjoying talking to you, but I'd have expected you to make a beeline over to my dad to say hello, upon arrival. Has he been sulking at the Court, too?"

"I wouldn't say _sulking_ , exactly," Evie replied evasively, figuring that it wouldn't be fair to complain to Chris's daughter that her dad had been steadfastly refusing to acknowledge half of his colleagues ever since she had managed to talk Harry Clark and Rebecca Hoyt around to her side on the taxation issue. "I think he's just been dealing with a lot emotionally."

"Including me." Shannon sighed. "Sorry."

"Oh, goodness, don't apologize, Shannon. You didn't _ask_ to get into an auto accident."

"Try telling my dad that," Shannon grumbled. "I swear, he stood by my bed in the ER and lectured me for a solid 15 minutes about defensive driving, even though I wasn't even the one operating the car at the time."

Evie smiled sympathetically. That sounded exactly like the sort of thing that Chris would do in an attempt to hide a state of complete panic.

"Can I ask you about the case?" Shannon said unexpectedly.

"You haven't discussed it with your dad?"

"I have, but I'm curious to hear your perspective."

"With or without the boring bits about direct versus indirect taxation, and population-based apportionment amongst the States and such?"

"If you want to avoid those bits, I won't complain."

"OK, then." Evie repositioned her folding chair so that the sun wasn't shining right into her eyes through the tree branches, and then turned back to Shannon. "Basically, we were looking at whether or not Congress had had the power to pass the act in the first place. Congress indisputably has power to lay and collect taxes, according to the Constitution. And some of us – not including your dad – looked at the individual mandate requirement and said, well, the Santos Administration is calling it a penalty instead of a tax, but if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck..."

"But Dad has been grumbling that you're trying to rewrite Article I, or something," Shannon interrupted. "You're not allowed to tell him that I told you that, by the way."

"My lips are sealed," laughed Evie, "although that's nothing he hasn't accused me of trying to do, to my face. So that's the second point on which we disagree. As I mentioned, your dad doesn't think that the individual mandate is a tax; I and a majority of Justices on the Court do. But I also personally think that Congress had the power to enact the individual mandate under other parts of Article I – namely, the Commerce Clause and the Necessary and Proper Clause. The former clause allows Congress to regulate all activity impacted by interstate commerce; your dad thinks that a failure to enroll for health insurance isn't covered by the Commerce Clause because it's technically economic _inactivity_ , which I think is splitting hairs, but he is, of course, entitled to his own opinion. And the latter allows Congress to enact legislation that will help it execute its other Article I powers – creating a national bank, and such, if you've ever heard of _McCulloch v. Maryland_."

"But how do you get around the fact that the act unfairly penalizes people who don't want to opt into health insurance?" Shannon argued. "That certainly seems like an infringement of individuals' liberty, to charge them for a service they don't need or want."

"Couldn't you make that argument about any tax, though?" Evie answered. "People pay taxes for the maintenance of roads and bridges that they might never use, or for the building and operation of public schools regardless of whether or not they have children attending those schools. They might not want or need those services, but nobody denies that Congress has the _right_ to collect taxes from individuals, for the sake of furthering public interests."

"But if it's not a tax..."

"Then I still think that health insurance impacts interstate commerce to the extent that its regulation falls under the aegis of the Commerce Clause. How could it not? If people don't have access to health care that will ensure that they're treated properly for illnesses and accidents, it'll take an enormous toll on their ability to contribute to the economic productivity of society, within and across state borders. And if the individual mandate doesn't stand – whether a tax or no – then the entire project collapses. Surely the young people who argue that they're healthy and don't need insurance are altruistic enough to be willing to sacrifice some for the sake of ensuring that a wider net of Americans won't suffer needlessly? Especially since not even the youngest and healthiest of people are immune to unexpected emergency room visits that can rack up extremely steep medical bills, without health insurance to help cover the costs," Evie added, glancing at the cast on Shannon's leg.

Shannon shook her head, frowning.

"You _did_ ask for my opinion," Evie reminded her.

"This is true, and thank you," Shannon conceded, stretching slightly in her chair. "By the way, you might be surprised to know that I don't disagree with you on the overall _concept_ of government-provided health care; I just don't approve of the form of delivery rolled out by Congress."

"I think most of the country is with you there, for one reason or another," laughed Evie. "And I promise I won't tell your dad that you're theoretically onboard with the fabled death panels, inter alia."

"Oh, he knows. He's been lamenting that he should have anticipated that sending me to Sidwell Friends would liberal me up."

"Years of Quaker education can do that to a person, although for all he knew, you could have become even more reactionary in protest."

"Maybe. The thing is, Dad's always saying that it's important to listen to other people's perspectives, even if they're wrong. And I just think that some of the less-conservative perspectives I've heard over my years at Sidwell have merit to them. That's all."

Evie nodded slowly, marveling at how Chris's daughter could be so incredibly like him, and yet so markedly different, at the exact same time.

"Like I said earlier, you're going to do wonderfully in college, especially if you go in with that attitude."

"Open to persuasion, you mean?"

"Unafraid to hear the other side out, at the very least." Evie grinned. "You'd be surprised at how terrified some people are about even the possibility of having their minds changed."

"You're not talking about my dad, are you?"

"Oh, absolutely not! Your dad is an excellent listener. I think we both aren't satisfied with our own reasoning until we've heard each other out and can pinpoint exactly why we think our own arguments are better than each other's, if we don't end up agreeing. No, everyone on the Court has made an art of keeping a relatively open mind and being acutely aware of everyone else's concerns. It's the only way to garner a majority, after all, to find commonalities where they exist and to compromise where necessary."

Shannon laughed quietly.

"I've gotten the exact same lecture throughout my life, in one form or another," she told Evie. "Seriously, though, you should go get yourself a burger. A Chief Justice Warren E. Burger, even. Just make my dad remember why he likes butting heads with you, and get him out of whatever funk he's been in, would you?"

Evie shot a glance over her shoulder at the barbecue, which Chris was now monitoring while scrolling through messages on his phone.

"Well, here goes nothing," she sighed. "Good talking with you, Shannon, and best of luck with everything."

"Same to you, Chief," Shannon replied with a grin.

The Chief Justice wondered briefly if she should scold Shannon for not just calling her Evie, but she instead stood and walked across the springy grass to where Chris had just slipped his phone into the pocket of his shorts.

"Hey," Evie said as casually as she could. "Can I request one medium-rare with cheese, or have these ones been on the grill too long?"

Without any verbal response, Chris slid a sizzling burger patty onto half of a bun on a paper plate, and handed it to Evie.

"Thanks." Evie crossed her arms as best she could while holding a plate, and tilted her head in an attempt to read her colleague's inclined face. "How are you doing?"

"Fine," Chris replied curtly, not looking at Evie.

"I was just chatting with Shannon. She seems like she's recovering pretty well."

"I saw."

Chris busied himself with transferring the rest of the burgers onto plates. Evie sighed.

"Is it really going to be like this all summer, Chris? Do you want me to keep my distance until the start of the next term? Because I can do that, but it would be _nice_ to be friends again sooner rather than later."

"Whoever said we weren't friends?" snapped Chris.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Evie shot back, "do friends usually refuse to acknowledge each other in the hallways at work? Do friends avoid taking phone calls or casual drop-ins from each other? Do friends accuse each other of dealing 'a blow to the project of American federalism so vicious that it would make James Madison turn his face away in horror'?"

"It's an absurd overreach of Congressional power!" Chris exploded, causing several guests chatting nearby to turn their heads in alarm. "Does the Tenth Amendment not exist? Does federalism as an overarching structure for our government not exist?"

"It's a tax, plain and simple," Evie argued.

"Why did they take such pains to call it a 'penalty,' then?"

"Politics, no doubt, but the nomenclature doesn't stop the penalty from being what it is. After all, that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet..."

"Don't Ashland at me," Chris scowled, employing the term that he had coined for Evie's habitual quoting of Shakespeare, in emulation of her predecessor. "You can be glib about it, if you want, but I wouldn't be surprised if this bit of judicial hocus-pocus is thrown into the 'Anti-Canon' for the future derision of law students nationwide."

"Yes, because agreeing that Congress has the right to ensure that Americans with pre-existing conditions can afford health coverage is perfectly analogous to upholding racial segregation," Evie retorted, sarcasm dripping from every word. "If they had called the individual mandate a federal tax, would it be as acceptable to you as, say, income tax? Or would you still demand that health care be created by the States, and only by the States?"

"If I felt that the penalty functioned like an actual tax did, then that would be a different story. But I don't, and it doesn't, and your wing of the Court has gone too far in doling out powers to branches of the federal government that have no constitutional right to them."

" _My_ wing of the Court?" Evie repeated. "I don't have a _wing_ of the Court, for heaven's sake. Has this one case made you forget all of the unanimous rulings we've had this term? Or the fact that there were at least two cases in which you and I ended up together on one side of an issue, while Ron and Roberto both were firmly on the other?"

Chris harrumphed.

"Look," Evie sighed, "you know that there's always an equally good chance that you'll be able to argue Harry and Rebecca, or whomever else, over to your view of a case. And you know that the status of health care easily could change. Half of Congress has been clamoring to repeal and replace the act, ever since it was passed, and for all you know, they'll be able to do just that at some point in the near future, and do away with the individual mandate in the process."

"It's still bad precedent," Chris grumbled.

"Well, if history decides to file me away in a category with Roger B. Taney, then so be it. And cheer up, even precedent can be overruled by a future Court, if it becomes clear in the future that a mistake has actually been made. So history ultimately will vindicate you, in the highly unlikely event that you're right and I'm wrong," Evie concluded cheekily.

Chris sniffed haughtily, but he seemed somewhat mollified. Evie watched him for a few moments, amused, as he scraped at something charred to the surface of the grill with his barbecue tongs.

"Any plans to go see the fireworks tonight?"

"And deal with the throngs of rowdy, drunken people on the Mall?" Chris made a face. "Not a chance."

"American patriotism at its finest," Evie teased him. "Jenny's apartment has a fabulous rooftop view, apparently, so we were planning to venture over later this evening. You should come along, if you've cooled down enough to not growl at her or at anyone else who might turn up."

Chris shrugged.

"Depends on how late all of this wraps up, and if Shannon's feeling up to it, and if we can find a way to pull Adam away from his Xbox..."

"Excuses, excuses." Evie gave Chris a searching glance. "I know I asked you this already, but really, how are you doing?"

Chris stared absent-mindedly across the lawn, not really seeing the neighbors and friends assembled under the dappled light cast through the oak trees that ringed his backyard.

"Fine," he repeated. "I guess. As well as you might expect. Still worrying about Shannon more than I should, and I'm sure it's only going to get worse as the summer wraps up."

"Yeah. I won't deny that the parental separation anxiety gets pretty intense. Pity they never seem all that drawn to Georgetown, where we could keep an eye on them easily."

"I just wish she hadn't gotten into such a stupid accident this summer, of all times," Chris said. "I would have been worried enough, as it was, and now..."

"Chris, you know it wasn't her fault that a drunk driver hit her boyfriend's car. It could have happened to anyone, and thankfully she's already on the mend, and will probably be left with nothing more than a few scars to show for the whole experience."

Chris sighed.

"Of course, but it's just one more hypothetical disaster scenario that will keep me awake at night when she's off being an independent young adult. Irrational, I acknowledge, but you know how it is."

Evie nodded.

"I suspect I've been letting familial stress impact my conduct at the Court, as well," Chris added. "Not terribly professional of me."

"It's understandable enough."

"Nevertheless, I probably owe you all an apology. Maybe I should drop by Jenny's tonight, and hope that Rob and Paul and Harry and Rebecca show up, too."

"That would be nice." Evie smiled at him. "It's good to have you back to your usual self."

"Well, as you've reminded me, not only is my daughter still alive and recovering quickly, but there are two other branches of government that can and will keep any instances of judicial tyranny in check."

"Right," Evie agreed, rolling her eyes, "and until they do, the tyranny of the judiciary will ensure that the parents of any other teenage girls who get hit by drunk drivers will also be insured, and thus able to pay for hospital treatments."

The corner of Chris's mouth twitched upwards.

"You should eat that, before it gets cold," he said, gesturing to Evie's burger. "Lettuce and onions and tomatoes are at the table over by the deck."

"Thanks." But rather than leave immediately, Evie stayed for just a moment longer, meeting Chris's smile, affirming that any discord between them was slowly but surely dissipating. "Hey, Happy Fourth. Here's to one more year of the Republic surviving."

"And doing so in spite of our all-too-human flaws," Chris replied, but without any bitterness.

As Evie headed back towards the deck, Bill caught her eye from where he and Louise were now listening politely to one of Chris's Federalist Society friends explain everything wrong with the Court's recent health care ruling. He raised his eyebrows in a silent question, then grinned when Evie flashed him a thumbs-up.

"You look considerably happier," Shannon noted as Evie passed her. "I take it you somehow managed to convince Dad that the world isn't actually ending?"

"I think you could say so, yes."

"Oh, thank goodness. Thank _you_." Shannon glanced at the plate that Evie was holding. "Off to go strictly construct yourself a burger now?"

"We'll have to see about the strict construction part," Evie winked. "After all, I think I can safely assert that it'll still be a Chief Justice Burger, regardless of my chosen theory of constitutional interpretation, no?"

Shannon shut her eyes in mock dismay.

"I should have seen that one coming," she muttered.

"I thought you said you liked terrible puns."

"Yes, but I'd label that one almost criminally awful."

"Then in the future, I'll exercise my right to remain silent," the Chief Justice quipped cheerfully.

"Worse and worse, Evie," groaned Shannon, waving her uninjured hand. "Better stop while you're ahead, and go doctor your food."

It wasn't until later – sometime after she and Louise had talked Chris into agreeing to watch the fireworks from Jenny's rooftop that evening – that Evie realized that the Mulready kids apparently _did_ call her by her first name. It was a strangely comforting fact, a small reminder that she was enough a part of the fabric of Chris's life, even off the bench, that to try to snip her presence out permanently would cause distress to the overall pattern. Evie had never _really_ worried that any contentious case would leave her friendship with Chris irreparably damaged, but she still was relieved to be reminded that his daughter felt comfortable calling her out on her bad puns; that his son challenged her husband to rounds of video games only moments after saying hello; that his wife knew she could always call and ask the Langs to pick up more hamburger buns en route to the party. Beyond being the Chief Justice and Justice Mulready, they were Evie and Chris, an inextricable and comfortable part of each other's professional narratives and daily lives. And for Evie, this was reassurance enough that any wounds they dealt each other would eventually heal over, with enough time and care.

* * *

Author's Note: Yes, I currently am having a lot of VERY intense feelings about the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act. The central legal debate in the above, over the individual mandate being equivalent to a tax, comes from _National Federation of Independent Business v. Sebelius_ (2012); however, if you want a much more colorful judicial take on the legality of Obamacare, I highly recommend Justice Antonin Scalia's indignant dissent in _King v. Burwell_ (2015), which gifted the American legal community with the phrases "SCOTUScare," "jiggery-pokery," and "pure applesauce." (And the briefly-mentioned violent video games case is inspired by _Brown v. Entertainment Merchants Association_ (2011) - apparently, Justices Stephen Breyer and Elena Kagan actually played some violent video games together, in preparation for oral arguments in the case, and Justice Kagan's account of the experience is pretty hilarious, if you care to look up her interview on the subject.)


	11. The Right of Citizens to Vote

AMENDMENT XV

 _Passed by Congress February 26, 1869. Ratified February 3, 1870._

Section 1.

The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of race, color, or previous condition of servitude—

Section 2.

The Congress shall have the power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.

* * *

Evie hadn't touched a basketball in several decades, but her reflexes kicked in when one came whizzing through the air towards her head.

"Nice catch," grinned Charlie, holding out a hand so that Evie could pass the ball back to him. His eyebrows shot up in approval when she did so, accurately and with an impressive amount of force. "You used to play?"

"Oh, just with my brother and his friends. Might've played in school, if I'd had the chance, but high school athletics were pretty different in the years before Title IX."

"No kidding. Point guard?"

"Most of the time. I did have a nice jump shot, at one point in my life, but goodness knows the boys were upset whenever I had the audacity to try for a basket or two of my own. I got pretty good at assists, just so they wouldn't relegate me to the sidelines."

"Well, you sure haven't lost your arm," said Charlie, dribbling the ball idly, then bounce-passing it back to Evie. "Wanna shoot around a bit?"

"One-on-one?" Evie laughed, passing the ball straight back. "Charlie, however much I may have impressed you by dint of not being completely inept with a basketball, you'd crush me on the court."

"I believe that's the first and last time you've ever had to say that, ma'am."

"You're too generous, especially in light of the opinion for which your boss is trying to garner support."

Charlie's expression darkened.

"I'll respectfully decline any responsibility for that opinion, Your Honor," he said seriously, dribbling the ball once hard against the ground and catching it again in both hands.

Evie considered Charlie for a moment, and then she dropped her gym bag onto the floor. The basketball court, situated as it was in the gym on the top floor of the U.S. Supreme Court, and thus above the courtroom proper, was fondly known by everyone in the building as the "highest court in the land". Evie was surprised to realize that this was the first time she had ever actually stepped onto it.

"I suppose I'm warmed up enough for a round of HORSE," she reasoned, "although you'll have to let me take a few shots beforehand, just to get the motion back in my body."

"As many as you need, Madam Chief Justice," said Charlie, passing Evie the basketball.

"And you're not allowed to gloat too much to everyone else about having trounced me here, especially not to Chris," Evie jokingly warned Charlie, missing a lay-up and getting it on her second attempt. "Justice Mulready to you, rather."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Because it wouldn't be much to boast about in the first place, given that you're young and fit, and I'm short and out-of-shape and probably older than your mother," Evie continued as she banked a free throw that rolled slowly around the rim of the basket and through.

Charlie caught the ball and held it for a moment.

"My mom's dead, actually," he said without looking at Evie before bouncing the ball back to her.

This time, it was Evie who held the ball upon catching it, still standing at the free throw line.

"Oh my god, Charlie, I'm so sorry," she said, mortified.

"Don't worry about it. There's no reason you should have known."

Evie dribbled the ball once or twice guiltily, but couldn't bring herself to shoot.

"Was it...?"

"She was a cop," Charlie explained. "Died on the beat. It was a long time ago."

"That still doesn't make it easy."

"Yeah, well, I've been pretty lucky, all things considered." Charlie shrugged. "Was able to go to college and law school, was able to put my little sister through college. Got something like a new set of parents."

It was a well-known secret around the Court that Charlie was dating Zoey Bartlet again. According to Chris, Charlie had let slip once that Zoey's folks kept hinting that he should pop the question sooner rather than later, so Evie had to assume that Charlie had meant more to President Bartlet than just a competent Personal Aide.

"She would have been very proud of you," Evie reassured him. "You've made more of yourself than do most people with every opportunity handed to them on a silver platter. And you'll be one hell of a lawyer coming out of this place, especially having clerked for Justice Mulready. The legal world will be your oyster."

Charlie looked as if he wanted to say something, but instead he gestured to Evie and asked, "You gonna take that shot?"

Evie did, and missed. Charlie rebounded and banked a lay-up before passing the ball back to Evie.

"Can I ask you something, Your Honor?" he asked.

"Shoot," said Evie, sinking a shot from the elbow of the key.

"How the hell have you stayed friends with him, over all these years?"

Evie gestured for Charlie to keep the ball while she thought.

"It really boils down to trust," she said slowly. "We both accepted a long time ago that we weren't going to agree on some subjects, but you know better than most that this Court issues more unanimous opinions than the average American would ever expect, and when it comes to the more contentious matters... well, I think we both just have to believe that the other has the best of intentions, even when it's hard for us to see things from each other's perspectives."

Charlie responded by clunking a corner shot off the rim of the basket, catching it on the rebound, and vigorously landing a soft lay-up that swished effortlessly through the net.

"You're angry about his Voting Rights Act opinion."

"All of the empirical evidence points to the fact that, without Section 5 permitting federal oversight of election practices as it does under the current model, some of the jurisdictions identified by the preclearance formula provided in Section 4(b) would change voting procedures in ways that would disenfranchise or suppress minority voters," Charlie asserted. "He's looked at the facts. He _knows_ this. So why is he insisting that Section 5 discriminates against those jurisdictions?"

"You know Justice Mulready," Evie sighed. "Nothing gets his hackles up like the federal government allegedly impinging on states' rights."

"At the cost of discriminating against minority voters?" Charlie shook his head angrily. "Maybe I'm missing something, but it doesn't seem right to me that abstract entities like states and counties should be more shielded by the law than actual physical human beings, especially given that the discrimination against minority voters is real and demonstrable. The Fifteenth Amendment specifically enshrines the right of citizens to vote without facing discrimination based on race. That's a constitutional right guaranteed to voters. It's not like federal preclearance prevents jurisdictions from holding free and fair elections according to standards that they design, and it's not like a township has feelings that can be hurt by the presence of additional oversight, anyway."

"Justice Mulready thinks that jurisdictions shouldn't be punished for their past actions, and that the Section 4(b) formula does that, given the fact that it was designed based on 40-year-old data."

"And I'd agree, if the current data didn't provide such compelling evidence that the actions being punished weren't left in the past." Charlie scowled. "You really spend a lot of time defending him to your liberal friends, don't you."

"I..." Evie began her sentence with an appropriate degree of indignation, but she had to concede that Charlie was right. "I guess I do."

"It shows."

"Well." Evie sighed. "You're preaching to the choir here, Charlie. In fact, what you've been saying is more or less exactly what I'm writing in my own opinion."

"Yeah?"

"You know how you hear about patients who start a medical regimen, and then decide once they start feeling better that they can and should stop taking their meds, only to relapse because of _course_ the medication was exactly what was making them feel normal enough to justify stopping?" Evie smiled grimly. "That's how I look at the Section 5 provisions. Maybe the jurisdictions in question haven't committed any serious voting rights violations recently, but I'd bet a considerable sum on the notion that that's in large part _because_ of the federal oversight that the Voting Rights Act provides."

"I'm with you there. I just wish I knew how to get Justice Mulready to see what seems so obvious."

"If I'd figured out how to do that yet, I'd tell you right here and now. We'll see whose arguments gain more traction amongst the other Justices, his or ours."

In the brief silence that followed, Charlie dribbled the basketball a few times, not looking at Evie, who brushed a strand of sweaty hair out of her eyes.

"You're still wondering why I didn't offer you a clerkship," she said gently.

Charlie caught the basketball and glanced at Evie.

"I wasn't going to bring it up."

"No, but you deserve an explanation." Evie sighed. "It wasn't at all that I didn't want you on my team, Charlie. Truly, it wasn't. You blew all of us away, and that's the honest truth. I would have been thrilled to have taken you on."

Charlie raised his eyebrows, unimpressed.

"But?"

"But Chris..." A laugh caught in the back of Evie's throat. "I can't believe I have to phrase it this way, but it's accurate: Chris practically begged me to not give you an offer. He really wanted to have you as a clerk, and he knew that if I asked you to come onboard, you almost definitely would have. It took him some effort, but in the end, he convinced me with the rationale that a year spent butting heads with him, constantly having to defend your own arguments against his, would make you a much, much better lawyer, in the long run."

Charlie's gaze was fixed on the ground, but he nodded.

"I know he can be infuriating, Charlie. He's one of my best friends in the whole world, and yet there are still days when I feel like socking him in the jaw. But you have to understand that he's not doing what he's doing because he wants to hurt people, even if that's the result. He's doing what he absolutely believes is the right and just thing to do."

"But isn't there a point when it's useless trying to distinguish between someone who's OK with the racist consequences of their well-intentioned actions, and a straight-up racist?" Charlie countered angrily.

"I don't know," Evie confessed after a very long moment.

"See, the problem I keep running into is that I really like him," Charlie explained. "I have all the respect in the world for how brilliant he is, and I'm honored, really, that he wanted me to clerk for him as much as you've just said. But then he goes and does something like this, and it just makes me feel like dirt, you know? Like, really? You have a black man whom you reportedly hired because you valued his perspective, telling you that institutionalized racism is in fact alive and well, even if it's never touched you and you can't see it from your vantage point – and it doesn't mean anything to you? You're still gonna prioritize the imagined indignities faced by a few counties in Mississippi, over the rights of thousands of U.S. citizens, just because those counties don't like having DOJ double-check whether or not their new voting procedures will take us back to Jim Crow?"

He tossed the basketball to the floor of the gym, and Evie watched it bounce away into a corner. She wondered for a fleeting moment if she had made a huge mistake in letting Chris hire Charlie, but since there wasn't anything that she could do about it now, she decided not to dwell on the might-have-beens.

"Earl Warren," she said instead. "What's the first descriptor that comes to mind?"

Charlie blinked at her.

"Chief Justice during _Brown v. Board_ ," he replied.

"Right. One of the great champions of desegregation and racial justice. Know what he was doing a decade before _Brown_? Enthusiastically using his power as Attorney General of California to put Japanese Americans into internment camps."

Charlie crossed his arms, waiting patiently for Evie to make her point.

"People change, Charlie. It takes time, and it takes dialogue, and sometimes it's painful for people to shift their worldviews because it means that they have to confront exactly how severely they've hurt others. Earl Warren said that he deeply regretted his actions with regards to the internment, but he learned from his mistakes. Even while still Governor of California, he desegregated schools within the state for a number of racial groups, including Asians. And then, five years later, there was _Brown_."

"So, what? We need to try to turn Justice Mulready into the next great progressive force on the bench?"

"I wouldn't go so far as to set ourselves up for failure, but I think it's important to try to plant seeds that may flourish, in their own time. If enough of Justice Mulready's clerks share their own personal experiences with him, and tell him over and over that institutionalized racism exists, then maybe he'll eventually see the light. And maybe the opinion he's circulating, whether it becomes the law of the land or yet another impassioned dissent, will be what future generations will hold up in contrast to his own equivalent of _Brown_."

"Maybe. I won't be holding my breath."

"Well, that hope is the best consolation I've found, to date." Evie regarded Charlie with concern. "You don't regret working with him, do you?"

Charlie quirked an eyebrow at Evie and scoffed.

"You kidding me? At this rate, having argued every single issue that's come through the door of his chambers inside and out, I'll be the best damn attorney on earth by the time I leave here."

"That's the spirit." Evie glanced at the clock on the wall and swore under her breath. "It's later than I thought. I should get back to work."

"You're just trying to get out of playing me in anything, aren't you?" Charlie accused her, grinning.

"I've got a draft opinion to refine," she argued, picking up her gym bag. "You can hold me to that game of HORSE sometime, when no one else is in here to witness it."

"Fair enough."

"Hey," Evie added, "I may not be your boss, but I hope you know that I'm always happy to discuss anything that's bothering you, Charlie. In strict confidence, of course. I think you've probably correctly inferred that my feelings about Chris Mulready can get extremely complicated and emotionally-taxing at times, too."

"Thank you, Madam Chief Justice," Charlie said.

Evie stooped down as she reached the door to the locker rooms and picked up the basketball. She tossed it in Charlie's direction with one hand, and he caught it off its second bounce.

"And good luck with that draft opinion, too," he smiled. "Don't let him crush you on this one."

"I'll do my best," said Evie, and she exited as Charlie went back to shooting hoops on the highest court in the land.

* * *

Author's Note: Even though the dialogue in "The Supremes" dabbles in some real, existent case law - e.g., _United States v. Lopez_ (1995) - the case under discussion in this chapter is, in fact, not technically _Shelby County v. Holder_ (2013), even if it centers around the exact same issues. And that's because I like to believe that, on a Lang Court, the opinion that gutted the Voting Rights Act by destroying the federal preclearance provisions of Sections 4(b) and 5 would have been a dissent, not a majority. All this said, in a nod to the rhetorical genius of one Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, I feel compelled to add here the most widely-quoted line of her own extraordinary dissent in _Shelby County_ , whose time will hopefully come at some future date: "Throwing out preclearance when it has worked and is continuing to work to stop discriminatory changes is like throwing away your umbrella in a rainstorm because you are not getting wet."

I also acknowledge that, in the real world, it's probably a total breach of etiquette for a Justice to talk to a colleague's clerk about a pending case, or about the clerk's Justice. But I'm going to suspend that aspect of reality for Evie and Charlie, because the world of "West Wing" fan fiction is most definitely not the real world.

Lastly, although I wrote almost all of this chapter last month (and then put it on the back burner while I worked on getting Charlie to his clerkship in the first place), I was gratified to hear Justice Sonia Sotomayor provide some legitimate support for my assumption about the Justices trusting in each other's good intentions - however divergent their legal reasoning - during the talk that she gave at UC Berkeley on March 9, 2017 (the video is posted online, for anyone interested). It's always a pleasant surprise when reality mimics the most idealistic in one's fiction.


	12. Eighteen Years of Age or Older

AMENDMENT XXVI

 _Passed by Congress March 23, 1971. Ratified July 1, 1971._

 **Note:** Amendment 14, section 2, of the Constitution was modified by section 1 of the 26th amendment.

Section 1.

The right of citizens of the United States, who are eighteen years of age or older, to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of age.

Section 2.

The Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.

* * *

As the Judicial Conference meeting had ended much later than anticipated, Evie had intended to head straight back to her chambers, but when she spotted Chris sitting glumly in one of the inner courtyards of the Court, she pushed open the door instead.

"You OK?" she asked, striding across the marbled floor and sitting down across from him, at one of the tables that circled the little fountain in the center of the courtyard.

Chris nodded tersely, scowling at the cell phone that he held in his hand.

Evie sighed.

"Clearly, you're not. What's going on?"

"Nothing," replied Chris. "It's nothing, really."

Evie waited patiently.

"It's Shannon's birthday today," said Chris after a moment. "Her eighteenth birthday. And the first one that she's spending away from home. I've tried calling her twice now, but she's not picking up."

Evie tried and failed to suppress a smile.

"Chris, she probably has class right now. Why don't you try calling her later on in the day, when she's at dinner?"

"Won't she be celebrating with friends then?"

"Maybe, but I'm sure she'd pick up if she saw that you were calling."

"I'd hope so." Chris set the cell phone down on the table and shot a frustrated glance in the direction of the fountain. "She's not being nearly as communicative as she used to be. I mean, I know, she's off meeting new people and trying new hobbies and hopefully doing at least some of her homework, but she _could_ call more often than she does. We used to talk for at least half an hour over dinner every evening, when she was still living at home."

"I think," Evie interrupted, "that Shannon's probably just doing what most kids do when they go off to college, which is to flex their independence a little bit. And that means ignoring their parents to prove a point to themselves, which hurts from our perspective – believe me, I remember – but isn't meant to be any condemnation of your parenting skills, or a reflection of how she feels about you."

"You sound like Louise," Chris grumbled. "She keeps telling me to stop worrying so much."

"Well, Louise and I both do have the advantage of having been 18-year-old girls ourselves, at some point in our lives." Evie smiled at Chris reassuringly. "Think of it this way: you've now successfully raised one of your offspring to be a very self-sufficient young adult."

"God, don't call her an adult yet," Chris groaned, burying his face in his hands. "You're making me feel so old."

"Only an adult in a legal sense," Evie clarified. "Voting rights and such."

"That's not reassuring, either," Chris huffed. "She's decided to become a _socialist_ , thanks to that troublesome econ professor who's teaching her intro course, and I'm fairly convinced she's doing it specifically to drive me crazy. Hopefully, her fixation with the radical left is just a temporary phase."

"If not, she can join the club," said Evie with a wink, for during the Court's universal health care deliberations the previous term, Chris had labeled Evie with any number of appellations that fell under the radical leftist umbrella, none of which were intended to be flattering.

"You jest, but she's taken to posing an obnoxious 'What Would Evie Think?' line of reasoning in defense of her positions, whenever I challenge her on some of her more ludicrous ideas," Chris scowled. "As a fair warning for the next time you see her, I think she's made you out in her head to be some sort of contemporary pro-government/anti-violence incarnation of Emma Goldman; I've had to dissuade her from such delusions on several occasions."

"I'm not sure if I should be offended or flattered, or mainly concerned that you painted such a hyperbolic picture of me at home during Shannon's impressionable youth," Evie joked. "I'm only kidding, Chris," she added quickly as soon as she saw her friend bristle indignantly.

Slightly mollified, Chris instead made a disgruntled noise of frustration and sat back in his chair, staring determinedly at the underside of the umbrella over their table. For a moment, the only sounds in the courtyard were the trickle of the fountain and the distant whir of a lawnmower cutting the petal-strewn grass on the lawns that surrounded the courthouse.

"They grow up too fast," Chris grumbled finally.

"Yeah. It takes some adjustment when they leave home. I don't think you ever quite get used to it, but it's just a part of the process, after all. And I think that you, for one, would find it infinitely more problematic if they never left at all."

"But if she had only gone to Georgetown, or, I don't know, UVA, or William & Mary..."

"It would still be different, Chris. I don't think she'd be coming home every weekend to visit, and I know that you would respect her wanting to put some distance between you. You'd still be left with the slightly disoriented sense that she was someone no longer within your immediate sphere, every time you saw her."

"That's just it," Chris agreed unhappily. "I worry that she's slowly but surely becoming someone I neither know nor understand, in those intervals between when we see her. Not that I don't want her to go live her own life, of course; but it's disconcerting, all of this rebellious socialism business, and her new group of college friends, and the new boyfriend (whom she didn't mention for several months, I should add), and the fact that I don't feel I can offer her any useful guidance when I generally have very little idea of what's going on in her life..."

Chris exhaled, then laughed slightly.

"What?"

"You must think I'm an idiot," he said, embarrassed. "Getting so worked up over something as trivial as this."

"I never think you're an idiot," Evie told him seriously, "and I don't think this is trivial at all."

"I just meant, given the fact that we're at the Court, and I shouldn't be wallowing in excesses of emotion like this..."

"Chris, much as you may hate to admit it, you're only human," Evie insisted, "and the law isn't the only important thing in the world, even if we sometimes forget that it isn't."

"This is true," Chris sighed. "Although I don't remember _you_ making a fuss in front of everyone – or, at least, in front of me."

"I did plenty of moping in the privacy of my own chambers," Evie admitted, "but you should remember that my kid left for college right when we both joined the Court. I was so busy learning the ropes around here that, at the start, I didn't have nearly as much time to miss him, at least while I was at work."

"Well, I'll use that as my excuse for comparative melodrama." Chris furrowed his brow. "I'm sorry I never really bothered to check in with you, back then."

"Don't be. You had enough to worry about, too. And it wouldn't have crossed your mind, given how much younger your kids are. Roberto's son is the same age as Jake; we had a lot of angst-ridden chats over how much we missed our boys, that first year."

"I see. Well, thank goodness for Roberto."

"You know what's really weird?" Evie asked. "Rob and I have now reached a point where we're getting applications from potential clerks who are the same age as our kids. _That_ really makes me feel old, I can tell you."

"Don't tell me you start projecting onto them, and feeling like you need to treat them extra-nicely, as a result?"

"I don't think that I do, but still, the young adults we've been interviewing all just seem so _young_ ," Evie sighed.

A sparrow fluttered down from the periwinkle sky above and hopped along the floor of the courtyard, back and forth across the crisp line of shadow that divided the marble into gray-blue and blinding white. Evie and Chris watched its progress in silence before it ruffled its feathers and fluttered back up towards the tiled roof of the courthouse.

"I'm sorry about Charlie," Chris said after a long moment.

"Well, it was a long shot," Evie shrugged. "I don't know how much more he could have learned from spending a year in my chambers, after a year with you."

"I honestly thought he might take you up on the offer."

"So did I, but there are plenty of other talented young people out there, and he'll have a fantastic time over at OLC."

"With all due respect to the Justice Department, it's not nearly as prestigious as a clerkship with the Chief Justice."

"But it's where Charlie wants to be, and it seems like an excellent fit for him. I have no doubt he'll stay in touch, with you, even if not with me."

Chris raised an eyebrow.

"It's not exactly a secret that you and Charlie had an unusually close relationship, considering he wasn't your clerk..."

"And you assured me over and over that you'd let me know if it bothered you," Evie interjected.

"It didn't bother me, and I suspect it was helpful for him to be able to blow off some steam whenever he became too exercised by my perspectives and opinions. I'd rather he complain about me to you than to anyone else, frankly."

"It wasn't complaining, per se, and you might be amused to know that I found myself defending you and your positions more often than I ever would have expected. It was something of an educational foray into the bewildering mind of Christopher Mulready for me, at least."

Chris snorted.

"My point being, I wouldn't be at all surprised if he kept in touch with you much more readily than he did with me. I was the one who spent a year driving him to the brink of insanity for a year, after all, while you got to play good cop and commiserate with him."

Evie shook her head pensively.

"No," she said. "If you haven't noticed, our clerks are a little bit like our legal children, in that we become incredibly attached to them, and we learn nearly as much from them as they do from us, and when the time comes they move on to bigger and better things, and all we can do is wish them the very best and hope that they'll drop us a line now and again. I think that Charlie and I will always be friendly, just as Shannon and I have always been friendly. But when push comes to shove, even if there are moments when my perspectives align more with those held by one or both of them on any given issue, their loyalty and affection will always be first and foremost with you. You're the one who's put so much time and effort into who they've become as people, after all."

Chris sniffed aggressively.

"Pollen," he grumbled, waving a hand vaguely at the air. "Damn cherry blossoms are provoking my allergies, like they always do around this time of year."

Evie reached over and gave Chris a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before standing up, shivering a little in the chill of the shadows that cut across the courtyard.

"Have you left Shannon a message, at least?"

"I always feel so ridiculous leaving messages for special occasions," Chris complained. "Mumbling strings of saccharine sentiments onto a voicemail message, recorded for all of posterity to scrutinize and mock, is so much worse than saying them directly to the recipient."

"Oh my god, Chris," Evie laughed. "Just say that you're thinking about her, and that you hope that she's having a happy eighteenth, and that you and her mom will try reaching her again tonight. That's really all you need to do."

"You're planning to stand there until I do at least that, aren't you?"

"Yup. Regarding you with cool judgment the entire time."

Chris wrinkled his nose, then picked his cell phone off the table and rang his daughter.

"Shannon," he said when the voicemail picked up. "It's Dad. Just wanted to call to say that I hope you're having a great day, and that Mom and I miss you and will try calling you later tonight. Love you," he added after the tiniest hesitation, and hung up immediately, turning to face Evie with defensive embarrassment as he did so.

"Was that so bad?" she asked him.

"So cloying that I now feel the need to brush my teeth," grumbled Chris.

Evie shook her head in fond exasperation.

"I'll see you inside. Don't stay out here brooding for too long."

"I think I'm well past _brooding_ ," Chris argued. "Wouldn't you agree that by now I've reached a state of equilibrium that's closer to contemplating, or reflecting?"

"If you say so," Evie smirked. "But, for what it's worth, I'll let you know here and now that I'll be more than happy to provide a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on in three years, when she'll finally be able to drink legally."

" _Really_ , Evie?" Chris protested after the Chief Justice as, still smirking, she crossed the courtyard and retreated back indoors.


	13. Compensation for Services of Congress

AMENDMENT XXVII

 _Originally proposed Sept. 25, 1789. Ratified May 7, 1992._

No law, varying the compensation for the services of the Senators and Representatives, shall take effect, until an election of Representatives shall have intervened.

* * *

Chris had heard a great deal about the fabled Ainsley Hayes by the time she finally appeared in his courtroom, and he was delighted to find that he was not disappointed in the slightest.

"Let me just begin by pointing out that that attorney nailed every question we had prepared for the government," he gushed to his clerks as they settled into chairs and onto couches around his chambers. "Excellent presentation; very confident, but not condescending in the slightest. I'm thoroughly impressed, especially since she stepped in for the SG relatively late in the game. Ryan and Natalia, I hope you were watching Ms. Hayes, because that was really how to end oral arguments for a term – not with a whimper, but with a bang."

Chris thumbed through his notes as his clerks chuckled appreciatively at his inversion of T.S. Eliot, except for Charlie, who merely shook his head in amused resignation.

"So," Chris continued, pushing his glasses just a touch up the bridge of his nose, "campaign finance laws. Per usual, I'd like to hear your thoughts before I share my own, as well as the issues brought up during conference."

"It's protected free speech," Ryan answered promptly.

"And _Buckley v. Valeo_ has been valid precedent for the past thirty years," added Natalia.

"Seems pretty simple to me," Ryan concluded.

"Let's slow down for just a minute: What about Justice White and Justice Marshall's dissents in _Buckley_?" Charlie asked. "The dangers of public corruption and the comparative campaign advantages afforded to political candidates with personal fortunes are just as relevant now as they were then."

"All valid concerns," Jeremy conceded, "but the First Amendment issue is still the most compelling, in my opinion."

"OK, sure, free speech is incredibly important, but even it can be regulated," Charlie argued. "Anti-libel laws, clear and present danger standards..."

"We were listening to the government's argument, Charlie," Natalia reminded him.

"Doesn't Ainsley deserve some credit for the _substance_ of her argument?" Charlie challenged Chris.

"Of course she does," said Chris calmly, "but admirably clear though her presentation was, even she was clearly aware that she was fighting an uphill battle against a time-tested precedent in a court of common law, dealing specifically with the types of limitations that can be placed on political contributions and expenditures."

"And here you had me so excited that the final argument of the term might not follow the predictable pattern of these discussions, Your Honor," Charlie sighed, grinning at his fellow clerks.

The Justice and his clerks batted arguments back and forth for the next hour or so, all acutely aware that this was the last case for which they would do so together. Chris tried his best not to think about this fact, but found himself repeatedly having to tug his thoughts away from sentimentality and back to the business at hand. Between the inevitable bittersweetness of bidding his clerks farewell at the end of a term, and the fact that Ann Carmine only a few days earlier had publicly announced her intention to retire at the end of the term, the present Court already had the distant quality of a cherished memory, each moment constituting a snapshot to be tucked away in a scrapbook for future reminiscing.

 _Dear God, and to think that I used to rib Pat Brannigan for being so sentimental_ , Chris thought to himself as they wrapped up discussion and his clerks all rose from their seats, still debating each other cheerfully as they prepared to return to their desks. "Charlie?"

"Yes, sir?" replied Charlie, turning on his heel instead of following Jeremy out of the room.

"I couldn't help but notice earlier: 'Doesn't _Ainsley_ deserve credit for the substance of her argument?' Another one of your White House friends?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," said Charlie, who by now was used to Chris gently giving him grief for appearing to know _everyone_ even incidentally related to government in Washington. "She used to be a big Federalist Society person, though, so I'm frankly surprised you haven't met her yet."

"I have, once or twice, but it was a long time ago, when I was still on the D.C. Circuit. And she'd certainly never appeared before me until today."

"Huh." Charlie smiled. "Well, you'll have to get to know her better sometime. You'd like her a lot. I think she's the only person I know who likes knocking heads with liberals even more than you do."

"Figures. Well, with any luck, I'll run into her one of these days. Maybe at this event tonight, even."

"If you do, please give her my regards and tell her congrats for upgrading to fancier digs than the Steampipe Trunk Distribution Venue," Charlie added mischievously.

"I have a sneaking suspicion that I shouldn't even ask what that means."

"Probably not, Your Honor."

"Fine," Chris sighed.

"Anything else, sir?"

"Yes, actually," Chris said after a moment of reflection. "I know you make statements like the one that you made earlier with a smile, but I also know that this has been a year of very real frustrations for you, Charlie. I hope you don't feel that I've treated you unfairly?"

"Not at all, Your Honor," Charlie reassured Chris. "I knew what I was getting myself into, when I accepted your offer for this clerkship, and I do think it's made me sharper legally."

"If nothing else, it's taught you how to lose gracefully," Chris joked with just a hint of apology in his voice.

"The White House taught me that long before you did, sir," Charlie grinned. "Sure, it's been hard at times not seeing eye-to-eye with you on so many issues over the past year, but it's not like opinion was ever monolithic in the executive branch. You're not the first boss with whom I've disagreed, and at least with you, the disagreement wasn't a shock."

"I see."

"And you've always treated me exactly like all of your other clerks," Charlie pointed out. "Every lunch we've had in your chambers, every dinner you've hosted for us at your home, every long weekend we've all spent in the building, taking turns to run out and buy each other more coffee – I've never felt anything other than respect and warmth from them, or from you. Any hostility that you've had towards my opinions has never brimmed into hostility towards me personally. And I think that's all a clerk can really ask for, in a judge."

"Well, I'm very glad to hear it," replied Chris in an uncharacteristically soft voice. "Thank you, Charlie."

"We good, sir?"

"Always." Chris returned Charlie's smile as his clerk finally resumed his progress out the door. "Have a good weekend, and I'll see you on Monday."

Chris had always considered himself a fairly lucky person, and he was all the more convinced of this fact when, not half an hour after arriving at the Federalist Society reception, he spotted Ainsley Hayes's distinctive blonde halo across the banquet hall of the Mayflower Hotel. He politely wrapped up his conversation with one of the D.C.-based partners of Jones Day and, setting his mostly-empty wine glass on a table, made his way strategically across the banquet hall so that he arrived at Ainsley's side just after she had finished a conversation and was browsing the dessert table.

"I was very impressed with your poise during your argument earlier this week," Chris said as Ainsley tried to balance one final macaron on the top of an already-impressive pile of sweets. He felt marginally guilty when she jumped in surprise and three cookies skidded off the edge of her overloaded appetizer plate.

"Justice Mulready," Ainsley gasped, clearly flustered as she made as if to pick up the fallen cookies, then thought better of it and straightened back up. "It's an honor, Your Honor."

"And likewise," answered Chris, trying not to laugh as Ainsley winced at the verbal redundancy of her own remark. "I wish all counsel who appeared before us were as well-prepared and clear-spoken as you were. Where has the Solicitor General's Office been keeping you all these years?"

"I prefer to take a more preparatory role in most arguments," Ainsley explained. "It's hard to present with conviction a line of argument by which you're not entirely convinced yourself."

"Fair enough," Chris conceded. "And yet you were willing to tackle an issue like campaign finance before us, on such short notice?"

"The SG came down with food poisoning the night before the argument," Ainsley shrugged. "And I was the primary person who had been mooting her, so it only made sense for me to bite the bullet and appear in court, for once."

"You were extremely convincing in your presentation. I wouldn't have known from watching you that you didn't agree with the government's position."

"Well, I have spent a fair amount of time on television, so I guess I'm used to performing when placed under a spotlight," Ainsley smirked. "But, respectfully, you're also presuming quite a lot by making the assumption that I didn't agree with my boss on this issue."

"Oh?" asked Chris, frowning slightly. "Ron's always made you out to be a pretty unshakeable conservative ideologue on every major issue."

Ainsley laughed.

"Please send Justice Dreifort my best, by the way," she said. "And sure, I consider myself a conservative – always have, always will. But campaign finance used to be a very nonpartisan issue, and even though it's beginning to take on party-line contours today, I'm still of the firm opinion that it should remain a commonsense issue, instead."

"Hmm." Against his better judgment, Chris picked an éclair off a nearby plate as he regarded Ainsley skeptically. "Enlighten me as to how you define 'commonsense,' if you would."

"Well, why should we make it easier for undisclosed donors to funnel unlimited quantities of money into political action committees that churn out agenda-driven, intentionally-misleading campaign ads?" Ainsley asked, her mouth twisting downwards in distaste.

"Unsavory examples of speech, perhaps, but still speech that is constitutionally protected," Chris retorted before he could stop himself.

"Is it, though?" Ainsley shot back. "Do you imagine that our Founders envisioned that one day, anonymous figures behind incorporated political organizations would hold as much sway over public debate as they do at present? Even the ones who liked the federal government the least were wary of corporations gaining too much political power – I think it was Jefferson who warned against 'the aristocracy of our moneyed corporations,' wasn't it?"

"You weren't asking the Court to decide whether or not political corporate expenditures were beneficial to public debate or not," Chris reminded her. "You only asked us to determine if they could be limited. _Buckley_ established that political expenditures are speech; _Bellotti_ guaranteed the same First Amendment rights for corporations a few years later. And I think I don't need to remind you that free speech is one of the cornerstones of our democracy, and that, consequently, an interest has to be inordinately compelling for us to restrict it in any form."

"But elections are just as much a cornerstone of our democracy," Ainsley challenged him, brandishing a tartlet to emphasize her point. "So any reasonable restrictions on speech in the context of a campaign seem pretty compelling to me. And how can you be so confident that more speech is healthy for the democratic process, when you don't even know whose speech it is? There seems to be a huge credibility issue, when people have to assume on blind faith that they're receiving information from trustworthy sources."

"The authors of the _Federalist_ Papers wrote under pseudonyms," Chris reasoned, "and I don't think there's a person in this banquet hall who would contend that they didn't have the right to say what they did."

"Open exchanges of ideas are one thing, campaign finance is another," Ainsley countered. "The Framers had a printing press, and a public interested enough in the creation of the federal government to create a market for their papers' publication, and that was about it. Meanwhile, we live in a world where ideas are propagated across a broad spectrum of media, some of which require high levels of funding to access, and some of which promote political advertisements to audiences not even seeking to be influenced by political debate. That's quite a contrast to those who had to make an effort to actually _buy_ Madison and Hamilton's writings, back in the day. And besides, the anonymous writers of the _Federalist_ Papers were expounding on abstract ideas, not engaging in direct character assassinations of people running for office, which is what so much of modern campaign expenditures go towards."

"And yet, in _New York Times v. Sullivan_ , we determined that speech about public figures must be subject to a much higher level of scrutiny before it can be considered defamation."

"Even so, it doesn't seem fair for the American people not to know how credible the sources of their information are or aren't, and that's just what super PACs allow – for organizations and individuals on both sides of the political spectrum, promoting specific agendas that benefit from the blatant distortion of facts, to pool vast amounts of resources and spoon-feed facts to a public that has no idea what agenda is driving its media. For all we know, foreign interests are pouring money into these super PACs, and as long as the donors contributing to such organizations don't need to be disclosed, no one will ever be able to hold them accountable. I hope," Ainsley added, "that you'll never have to hear a case concerning whether or not First Amendment rights apply to money donated to American campaigns by noncitizen sources based outside the territorial boundaries of the country."

"I shouldn't opine on a hypothetical," answered Chris delicately, "but I suspect you and I both know that that would be a nine-to-zero decision leaning in favor of the only rational answer to that question."

"Well, I can tell you from a political and statutory standpoint what the right answer to that question is," Ainsley shrugged. "But if we're framing this debate purely on the terms of the First Amendment, there's plenty of case law that protects the free speech rights of noncitizens within the U.S. And I'm fairly sure that, if the Court chose to do so, it could strike down even the FECA provisions banning foreign contributions under the same freedom of expression rationales detailed by my opposing counsel a few days ago."

"You seem to have very little faith in our ability to refrain from judicial activism," Chris remarked.

"Your Honor," sighed Ainsley, "not to turn this conversation into too blatant a continuation of my oral argument, if the Court opts to grant super PACs unlimited campaign expenditures, then that will be a direct judicial overhaul of an act passed by Congress with broad bipartisan support in both chambers. I don't see how that isn't the very _definition_ of legislating from the bench."

"Sometimes Congress gets the law wrong," Chris replied after a moment's hesitation, just quickly enough to maintain the tempo of the ongoing dialogue. "And, when it does, it's our job to correct the error."

"Of course, but we're talking about an act that applies equally to candidates across the spectrum and impacts the coffers of politicians themselves, more than the rights of anyone else. How often does Congress actually vote to _restrain_ the amount of money its members can get their hands on?"

"There's the Twenty-Seventh Amendment."

"So our tally's up to three, or, in light of the Twenty-Seventh Amendment being only a restriction on raising the salaries of the _sitting_ Congress, maybe only two-point-five." Ainsley shook her head, smiling bemusedly. "Respectfully, it feels a bit like you trust a bench of unelected Article III judges to understand the ins and outs of campaign finance law better than the legislators who actually have to deal with it on a practical basis."

"I've never said that," huffed Chris, "and I deeply respect the role that Congress plays as the most representative branch of our entire government. I simply think that sometimes a federal judiciary that doesn't need to worry about the professional impact of popular opinion, in the way that elected officials do, is best positioned to slow Congress down when, in its zest to enact sweeping legislation, it's poised to steamroll over basic rights like free speech."

"Hmm." Ainsley munched reflectively on a chocolate-covered strawberry as she considered Chris's argument. "You know, I read your law review article on Congressional term limits when I was in law school, and I found it very convincing."

"Thank you," replied Chris cautiously, sensing a "but" would follow in short order.

"But it certainly gave the impression that you inherently distrust the legislature to have the integrity and skill to do its job properly."

"Did it, really?"

"Your Honor, you started the entire article with the quote, 'Democracy is the worst form of government, except for all the others.' That doesn't exactly strike a note a confidence with the reader."

Chris, who had never anticipated that the glib use of Churchill would make him feel anything less than brilliant, plucked a madeleine from the nearest dessert platter, visibly ruffled.

"For the record, I _do_ respect Congress, and its right to author laws impacting its own conduct," he grumbled.

"I don't doubt that's true, sir," Ainsley said kindly.

Chris really didn't appreciate the politely superior look that the younger attorney was giving him. Fortunately, his cell phone suddenly started buzzing violently in his coat pocket, causing Ainsley to jump slightly again and lose another cookie off the edge of her plate.

"If you'll excuse me for just one moment," muttered Chris, pulling his phone from his pocket as he turned away. "Hello?"

Although the woman whose sunny voice began to speak after a prolonged pause was only someone trying to sell him a different brand of auto insurance, Chris used the opportunity to edge out of the banquet hall and into a quieter corridor, upon which he politely told the woman on the phone that he was in no way interested, and hung up. He glanced surreptitiously up and down the corridor, and then hit one of his speed dial buttons.

"Come on, Evie," Chris muttered as the rings rolled over to Evie's voicemail. He hung up, and tried again, and then again.

"Are you OK?" asked Evie in a low voice without preamble, when she finally answered.

"Of course," said Chris impatiently. "Look, I need your help with something."

"Sure," Evie replied, concern hovering over her tone. "What's wrong?"

"I'm being walloped by Ainsley Hayes, of the Solicitor General's Office, on the issue of campaign finance, for Pete's sake," Chris ranted. "She's using my Congressional term limits article against me, and I'm having a devil of a time convincing her that I don't think the legislature is filled with incompetent morons."

Evie sighed wearily.

"Is that all?" she asked.

"Well, there's more, but..."

"But it's not a matter of life and death, and it can wait," Evie concluded wryly.

"So can your bimonthly game of hearts, I'm sure, and I think that an intellectual challenge like this..."

"Chris, I don't _have_ a game of hearts tonight."

"You don't? But I thought..."

"I'm supposed to be listening to speeches at this dinner for my husband's department at the university, so if you could refrain from calling me for the next few hours unless it's an actual emergency..."

"Ah." Chris suddenly felt uncharacteristically sheepish. "Of course. I'm sorry. Enjoy your evening."

"Thanks. You, too." Evie paused for a moment, and then added with just a touch of sympathy, "I'm sorry I can't help you on this one, Chris, but you _do_ think that Congress is by and large composed of incompetent morons."

"That's really not the point," Chris fumed.

"And wasn't Ms. Hayes dating a Congressman, at one point? Or maybe still is? In any case, it stands to reason that she might be a little defensive of his institution's integrity and competence, if so."

"Also not exactly the point..."

"Well, maybe it is, and maybe it's not, but you do realize that no one's going to scream, 'Off with his head!' if you concede defeat in an argument once in a while, don't you?"

"I know, I know," Chris grumbled.

"No need to sound so glum," Evie chided him gently. "I still think you're brilliant, if it makes you feel any better."

"Well, thanks for the vote of support."

"Any time, with qualifications," Evie laughed. "I'll see you on Monday. Don't overdo it on the desserts over there – remember what your doctor said about pre-diabetes."

"I'm not overdoing it on desserts!" Chris fibbed crossly as he licked some chocolate icing off the back of one of his fingers.

"Glad to hear it. Look, I have to go now – take care."

Chris scowled as the line clicked. He tucked his cell phone back into his coat pocket and slipped back into the murmur-filled banquet hall. Ainsley had migrated across the hall in his absence and had just accepted a glass of rosé from the bartender when Chris passed her.

"Cheers," she said, toasting the Justice. "I meant to ask you earlier, how's Charlie Young?"

"He's doing extremely well," replied Chris, glad that Ainsley had opted to change the subject. "I'm sorry to be losing him so soon. The Justice Department's lucky to be getting such a promising young lawyer."

"I keep meaning to reach out to him," sighed Ainsley. "I'm sure he's told you that we knew each other, back during the Bartlet Administration?"

"He said to congratulate you on something concerning the Steampunk Distributor Venue, or something like that?" Chris said, furrowing his brow.

"The Steampipe Trunk Distribution Venue, yeah!" Ainsley laughed cheerfully. A second later, her expression grew wide-eyed with apprehension. "Oh, God, what other stories has he told you? He hasn't told you about the whole 'Blame It on the Bossa Nova' fiasco, has he?"

"I don't think so?" Chris answered, confused.

"Well, thank goodness for that," sighed Ainsley, placing a hand to her heart melodramatically. "Give him my best, will you? And let him know that I'm sorry for not getting in touch sooner."

Chris assured her that he would, and, after exchanging a few more pleasantries, excused himself from the conversation and let himself be pulled into a few other sundry chats with various prominent conservative thinkers. As he left the event an hour later, however, he couldn't help but shoot Charlie a text.

 _So, what's the 'Blame It on the Bossa Nova' story?_

A few seconds later, Charlie's reply announced its arrival with a ding.

 _Ainsley didn't tell you?_

 _Unfortunately, no, which has only piqued my curiosity_ , Chris tapped back.

 _Sorry, sir_ , read Charlie's response, _if she didn't want to explain it to you, then I probably shouldn't spill the beans._

 _Handled with the discretion of a true lawyer_ , Chris answered with a smile.

 _I do my best to live up to my academic credentials, Your Honor._

 _Fair enough. Enjoy your weekend._

 _Thanks, you too. Also, I hope you went easy on the desserts at the reception?_

"Oh, for goodness' sake," muttered Chris, trying to mask a fresh wave of guilt with indignation over the fact that even his clerks were attempting to monitor his sugar intake. He almost dialed Evie again, out of sheer habit, but refrained from doing so when he remembered just in time that she was at a dinner and thus unavailable to field his complaints.

Instead, Chris pocketed his phone and breathed in and out deeply, appreciating the comfortably cool air. Endless days of humidity and blazing heat were just around the corner, but on this evening in late spring, with the dying sun glinting orange off the glass-walled office buildings of Farragut Square, the city was an undeniably pleasant place. It was a good weekend for the numerous college graduations that were occurring around the District, Chris reflected vaguely, and once again, a small wave of premature nostalgia lapped at Chris's emotions as he contemplated the departures that would soon occur at the Court.

The funny thing was that, by now, Chris knew exactly what Evie would say if he phoned her and tried to articulate even a fraction of the subtle melancholy that he felt. _Well, Chris_ , she would remind him, _change is inevitable in a city like Washington that literally runs on election cycles, so just enjoy the present while it lasts._ Sometimes he quipped back at her that of course it was easy for a progressive to embrace the inexorable progress of time, but tonight he couldn't help recalling Ainsley Hayes's remark about commonsense issues, and reflected that perhaps this was one of them. And so, instead of asking for solace in the face of something none of them could control, Chris instead contemplated the darkening sky for a moment longer before hailing a taxi and heading home.

* * *

Author's Note: I am 100% certain it's totally, totally _verboten_ for judges to discuss pending cases with the counsels who have argued them, before an opinion is issued, but again, this is a suspension of reality, so humor me and pretend that this all could have happened? I really just wanted a debate between Ainsley and Chris, in which Ainsley did what she does best and intellectually showed up the self-confident man with whom she was debating, while being endearingly awkward at the same time. And I also apologize for the fact that I really know next to nothing about campaign finance law, which is a large part of why this chapter took so long to write.


	14. Unable to Discharge the Powers of Office

AMENDMENT XXV

 _Passed by Congress July 6, 1965. Ratified February 10, 1967._

 **Note:** Article II, section 1, of the Constitution was affected by the 25th amendment.

Section 1.

In case of the removal of the President from office or of his death or resignation, the Vice President shall become President.

Section 2.

Whenever there is a vacancy in the office of the Vice President, the President shall nominate a Vice President who shall take office upon confirmation by a majority vote of both Houses of Congress.

Section 3.

Whenever the President transmits to the President pro tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House of Representatives his written declaration that he is unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office, and until he transmits to them a written declaration to the contrary, such powers and duties shall be discharged by the Vice President as Acting President.

Section 4.

Whenever the Vice President and a majority of either the principal officers of the executive departments or of such other body as Congress may by law provide, transmit to the President pro tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House of Representatives their written declaration that the President is unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office, the Vice President shall immediately assume the powers and duties of the office as Acting President.

Thereafter, when the President transmits to the President pro tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House of Representatives his written declaration that no inability exists, he shall resume the powers and duties of his office unless the Vice President and a majority of either the principal officers of the executive department or of such other body as Congress may by law provide, transmit within four days to the President pro tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House of Representatives their written declaration that the President is unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office. Thereupon Congress shall decide the issue, assembling within forty-eight hours for that purpose if not in session. If the Congress, within twenty-one days after receipt of the latter written declaration, or, if Congress is not in session, within twenty-one days after Congress is required to assemble, determines by two-thirds vote of both Houses that the President is unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office, the Vice President shall continue to discharge the same as Acting President; otherwise, the President shall resume the powers and duties of his office.

* * *

"Morning," Roberto called as Chris charged distractedly down the corridor.

"Morning." Chris stopped, turned on his heel, and took a few paces back in Roberto's direction. "Is she in today?"

"You know Evie," sighed Roberto. "Frankly, I think she'd rather be here than anywhere else, at a time like this."

Chris looked down at the ground.

"You've seen her?"

"Very briefly. Just wanted to give her my condolences and let her know that we're all here for her. She's not doing too great, Chris."

Chris nodded.

"I'll go over and say hello, at least."

"Yeah." Roberto clapped Chris on the shoulder. "Take care."

A few minutes later, Chris knocked gently on Evie's office door, and, without waiting for a response, slowly pushed it open.

Evie was staring at a the top page of an amicus brief with a dazed and frustrated expression that suggested that she had been re-reading the same sentence over and over without absorbing a word. All of the lights were off, and the only illumination in the room came from the dazzling sunlight lancing through the half-shuttered window onto Evie's desk. She blinked resignedly when Chris entered the office.

"Hi," he said quietly, hovering by the door. "I don't want to intrude, I just wanted to let you know that I'm here if you want to talk, and that I'm so, so sorry..."

Chris trailed off helplessly. Evie swallowed and gave him a stoic nod.

"Thanks, Chris," she replied, her voice weak with suppressed emotion. Then, as though the very act of speaking had wedged open a door that she had been desperately trying to keep shut, she began to cry, first in tiny, clenched gasps, and then in full-throated sobs.

Chris was the type of person who always thought things through carefully and methodically before acting – a trait that had made him a miserable athlete in his youth and an unparalleled attorney in his litigating prime. Yet, for once in his life, before he even had time to question if it was the appropriate thing to do, he had rushed around Evie's desk and knelt down, gathering her in his arms as she sobbed into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she choked in a small and unfamiliar voice. "I was holding everything together so well up to this point..."

"It's OK," Chris said soothingly. "It's OK, Evie. You don't have to apologize for grieving."

Evie sniffled and sat back in her chair, covering her face with her hands. Chris dragged a tissue box across Evie's desk so that it was at her easy disposal and sat back on his heels while she collected herself.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked uncertainly. "Water?"

Evie emitted a somewhat strangled laugh.

"No, thank you," she said, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue and tossing it in the wastepaper basket under her desk. "Although I'll probably have to run out and get more Kleenex midday. Maybe I'll ask Jake to pick some up on his way over."

"He's flying in?"

"Caught a red-eye to BWI last night. He should be getting into Union Station right around now."

"I'm glad to hear that," said Chris. He studied his friend critically. "Evie, are you sure you should be here today? No one will think any less of you if you take the next few days off, spend some time with Jake..."

"No," said Evie flatly.

"Evie..."

"Look, as much as I would love to fall asleep for the next few days and enter some oblivion in which none of this had happened, that's not going to do me or anyone else much good. I'd really rather be here, trying to do something constructive with my time. It's a good distraction, at any rate."

Chris gave her a skeptical look.

"I'll take a long lunch with Jake," she argued. "And then get back to work. He'll undoubtedly have things he needs to get done, too."

"If you're sure. But I hope you realize that the Court can get by for the next few days without its Chief Justice, much more easily than Jake can get by for the next few days without his mom."

"Hmm." Evie frowned pensively. "Jake's an adult who will no doubt be working through this in his own way. And taking time off would mean leaving all of you with Ron as Acting Chief Justice, which, frankly, I don't think anyone wants."

"It's not an ideal situation," Chris admitted, "but it would be temporary, and you need to think about your own well-being, before anything else. Plenty of people are obligated to worry about the functioning of the Court, but no one is going to look out for you, if you don't."

"On the contrary," said Evie through a teary smile, "isn't that exactly what you're doing right now?"

Chris smiled back at her, and then pushed himself to his feet, wincing as a dozen of his bones creaked and crackled their discontent.

"Take it easy, and please, _please_ , let me know if there's anything I can do for you." He paused and looked down at his hands. "I hope you realize how much you are loved, Evie. No one can replace Bill, but I and many, many others in this building care tremendously for you, and you can lean on any of us as much as you need to, professionally or personally. Just remember that."

Evie smiled and seized another tissue.

"I will," she said, her voice wobbling a bit. "Thank you, Chris."

Chris nodded and left the office. He ran into Jake Lang halfway down the corridor outside.

"Justice Mulready," said Jake politely. There were deep circles under his eyes, and both he and his suit had the crumpled look that came of having been crammed hastily into a tight space and left there overnight. Chris was struck once again by how much Jake reminded him of Evie, even though the young man was the spitting image of Bill; it was really because all of Jake's mannerisms were the same as Evie's, and so was his smile.

"Chris, please," he corrected Evie's son, putting a hand on his shoulder. "How are you doing?"

Jake sighed.

"Not fantastic," he admitted. "I think I'm still in shock, to be perfectly honest."

"It's understandable, given how sudden it was. I'm so sorry."

"Thanks," said Jake with a curt nod. "I should go..."

"Of course. Take care. And try to convince your mom to take a little time off, if she needs to."

Evie looked up when she heard the wheels of Jake's rolling suitcase whir across the floor outside her office.

"Hey," she said, moving around her desk to give her son a prolonged hug that under most circumstances would have made him roll his eyes in mild protest. "Thanks for flying in on such short notice."

"God, Mom, of course." Jake stepped back to get a better look at Evie. "You doing OK?"

Evie shrugged and put on a brave smile.

"I'll be fine," she said. "Do you need to rest up a bit? Take a shower? Or would you rather get food first?"

"Whatever works best for you." Jake rolled his suitcase into a corner of the room and pushed the handle down. "I ran into Chris Mulready outside your chambers. He told me to convince you to take a break."

"He told me as much himself," Evie sighed, sitting down in an armchair.

"You'd better not. I assume that, the second you stepped away, he and Ron Dreifort would foment some nefarious conservative _coup d'état_... _coup de cour_ , rather."

Evie shook her head.

"It's not like the Presidency, dear. Even if I did hand my administrative duties over to Ron for a few days, I'd still have my usual vote on all cases pending before us, so long as I didn't become permanently incapacitated."

"Well, thank god for that," muttered Jake, throwing himself into the adjacent armchair. "Chris Mulready seems to make his way through this world with a perpetual lean and hungry look. I wouldn't put it past him to try something sneaky in your absence."

Evie sighed.

"I know you don't like Chris in concept, Jake, but he's a really good person..."

"Who just wants to gut voting rights protections for minorities, undercut the gains made by the LGBTQ community over the past few decades, allow corporate money to dominate our elections, and overturn _Roe v. Wade_ ," Jake retorted. "He'd ban Jesus Christ himself from entering the country for looking too Middle Eastern, if someone gave him the chance."

"That's enough," Evie ordered. "Politics aside, he's my friend, Jake. And so is Ron Dreifort, who, by the way, thinks very highly of you."

Jake made a face. Evie laughed, in spite of herself.

"It's good to have you home, kid. I just wish it were under different circumstances."

"Yeah." Jake sighed. "Can I ask how it happened?"

"Quickly." Evie's voice caught in her throat. "He was unconscious by the time the ambulance arrived. There wasn't much they could do for him by then."

"Poor Dad." Jake rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. "Poor you."

Evie took Jake's other hand, and he curled his fingers tightly around hers.

"We'll get through this together," she promised, her heart hurting for her son. She suddenly felt very guilty for how selfish she was being. "Would it be helpful for _you_ if I took some time off?"

"Hell, no," replied Jake vehemently.

"You're not just saying that out of spite, because I can't deputize Roberto Mendoza or one of the Santos appointees to act as Chief Justice in my stead?"

"Thrilled as I'd be if the nation could be treated to a Chief Justice Jennifer Chang for a few days, I'm not." Jake regarded his mother pensively. "You need to be here, Mom, not for the Court, but for yourself. And I respect that."

"Are you sure...?"

"I _am_ your son, after all," Jake reminded her. "I deal with loss by distracting myself with other things, just like you do; so I brought my own work and intend to keep myself occupied with that. And I know what your job means to you, what a sense of purpose it gives you, especially in moments like these. Look, you were married to Dad for almost thirty years, and even though you've always been your own person in every way imaginable, it's got to a big shock to your identity to suddenly no longer be Bill Lang's wife. If there's anything that's going to keep you from feeling too off-kilter right now, it's going to be grounding yourself in the identities that you know you still have, and that means that you need to be here."

Sometimes, Evie was pretty blown away by what a thoughtful young adult she had raised. She sat back in her armchair and thought about who Evelyn Baker Lang still was, even after a jolt like this.

Jacob Alexander Lang's mother. Christopher Mulready's friend.

And the Chief Justice of the United States.

"Well, then, if you're sure, let's go find something to eat," she said, standing. "Because I've got plenty of work to do, when we get back from lunch."

* * *

Author's Note: I had written into _Penumbra_ , my first "West Wing" Supreme Court fic, that Evie's husband had passed away by the timing of that story, which took place circa December 2016. So I felt I had no choice but to off poor Bill Lang at some point during this series. And now I'm rather peeved that I let myself get so emotionally attached to a character whom I knew I was going to kill eventually.


	15. Constituting the Seat of Government

AMENDMENT XXIII

 _Passed by Congress June 16, 1960. Ratified March 29, 1961._

Section 1.

The District constituting the seat of Government of the United States shall appoint in such manner as the Congress may direct:

A number of electors of President and Vice President equal to the whole number of Senators and Representatives in Congress to which the District would be entitled if it were a State, but in no event more than the least populous State; they shall be in addition to those appointed by the States, but they shall be considered, for the purposes of the election of President and Vice President, to be electors appointed by a State; and they shall meet in the District and perform such duties as provided by the twelfth article of amendment.

Section 2.

The Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.

* * *

Chris was lounging in a chair in the lobby of the hotel, re-reading Aquinas's _Summa_ , when Evie finally dashed through the door, somewhat breathless.

"I am so sorry!" she fretted at him as he closed his book and stood to greet her. "Things were running late, and then Käthe Zimmermann asked me a question about my concurrence in _Purdue_ just as I was trying to leave, and we got caught up in that, and..."

"It's not a problem," Chris laughed. "Given that I had to check in and change, I'd only been sitting here for 15 minutes or so."

"Well, that's a relief." Evie exhaled, then grinned at Chris. " _Willkommen_ , then! I want to hear all about how things went in Oxford."

"Do you want to at least change into better shoes?" Chris glanced at Evie, who was still dressed in a suit and pumps. "Assuming that you're going to pull your typical trick of making me walk everywhere 'so long as there's still enough daylight to admire the sights,' that is."

"Fair point. Sorry, my mind's still awhirl from this afternoon. Give me a few minutes, and I'll be right back down?"

Evie took a few steps towards the elevators, then turned back around and gave Chris a quick hug.

"It's so good to see you," she told him happily, before heading for the elevators in earnest.

Chris, for his part, shook his head in bemusement as he sat back down with his Aquinas. It was charming how things like international judicial conferences made Evie as cheerful as they did.

"But really, how was the colloquium?" she asked ten minutes later, as they wandered out of the hotel and down a bustling street. "Any new insights in the realm of natural law?"

"Plenty. But that was only to be expected, given the fact that all of the preeminent Thomist scholars in the Anglophone world were present, and then some."

"That certainly sounds impressive. Were you the only American in the crowd?"

"One of a few. And the others were academics eager to field questions about the Declaration and such, so I had a fairly relaxing few days."

Chris sounded almost resentful about this turn of events, to Evie's amusement.

"Well, I'm sure you left a lasting impression, nonetheless," she consoled him.

"One can only hope."

Chris stopped in front of a church and pulled a large camera from the carrier that he had slung over his shoulder. He deftly popped the cap off the lens and peered through the viewfinder at the church, adjusting the focus with his brow furrowed in concentration.

"What's all this?" Evie laughed.

"Louise gave me this for my birthday and charged me with documenting my travels better," Chris explained as he tilted the camera to determine whether he wanted a landscape or portrait orientation. "She's decided that, since she really doesn't enjoy the hassle of going abroad herself, it's my job to convey the highlights to her as accurately as possible."

"That's lovely! Although it would be even more lovely if she were here in person, as well..."

"I'll let you try to convince her to make the long, tedious flight across the Atlantic, next time." Chris glanced sidelong at Evie. "It's partially your fault, you know. She knows that if I'm gallivanting about some foreign country in your wake, there's no way I'll get bored."

"Is that so?" Evie smirked as Chris went back to trying to frame his photograph perfectly. "And here I would have assumed that she'd think I was an absolutely terrible influence. Didn't I ever tell you about the time I – very appropriately – accidentally almost defenestrated myself in Prague?"

"I'm pretty sure I'd remember, if you had. Do I want to know the circumstances?"

"Well, we were on a tour of the castle, and the guard was changing in the square outside, so I was leaning out the window to try to get a better look, and I swear, if Bill hadn't been there to grab me..."

Evie's voice snagged suddenly on an unexpected surge of emotion, and she stopped abruptly, turning away. Chris glanced at her, concerned; and then, seeing that his friend was trying to regain control of her emotions as discreetly as possible, decided to give her the privacy she needed and instead went back to tinkering with the focus of his camera until he was finally satisfied and snapped his photograph.

"Look OK to you?" he asked Evie, holding the camera out to her so that she could check the image on its digital feed.

Evie smiled with a very slight sniffle.

"Beautiful," she declared as Chris stowed the camera away again.

Evie was more embarrassed by her momentary lapse into grief than she wanted to admit, and she was slightly annoyed but completely unsurprised that Chris had started sneaking concerned glances at her out of the corner of his eye. So it didn't surprise her when Chris finally just awkwardly asked her how she had been doing, in a general sense.

"Oh, well enough," she responded. "It's been rough, I won't deny it, but I'm holding up OK."

"I hope I haven't been missing obvious hints with regards to things that I could be doing to make your life easier...?"

"Not at all. I've been trying to maintain as stoic a front as possible at work, and I'm glad to know it's apparently working."

"Well, _is_ there anything that I could be doing to make your life easier?"

"It's sweet of you to ask, but no. I think it'll just take time to adjust to going home in the evenings to a house with no one else living in it." She smiled somewhat humorlessly. "Maybe I should consider adopting a cat or two."

The thought of Evie returning each night to a silent house with darkened windows made Chris more upset than he could possibly have expressed.

"You could always move," he suggested lamely, mostly because he couldn't think of anything else to say. "After all, most of us live in the District; I'm sure you could find a nice apartment somewhere near Paul and Francine, or Roberto and Laura, or..."

"Thanks, but no thanks," Evie interrupted. "I like my house, and I like my Senators. I like _having_ Senators."

"All right, fair, but there are a lot of advantages to..."

"I'm sure there are, but having the full representational rights of an American citizen ranks pretty high on my list of priorities. Also, Paul and Rob have apartments back in Baton Rouge and New York, respectively, so they can maintain their voting rights there, whereas it would make absolutely no sense for me to own residences only a 20-minute drive away from each other."

"You'd still have _some_ representation," Chris grumbled, mostly because he didn't want to concede defeat. "We have a Congresswoman, and three electors, after all."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm staying put in Maryland until Congress amends the Constitution to give Washington a voting member of the House and two Senators, too."

"Given the political reality of that decision almost inevitably handing two more seats in the Senate to the Democrats, that's never going to happen," Chris sulked.

"I know. Pity the District of Columbia wasn't constitutionally designed to be both the nation's capital city _and_ a fully-empowered federal state."

"It made perfect sense at the time for the federal government to want to exercise authority over its own seat, and not to have to rely on the police power of any given state for its defense. If you recall what Madison wrote in _Federalist_ No. 43..."

"Far be it from me to question the wisdom of James Madison, but I think the times have changed enough that D.C. statehood could work out just fine, if the political conditions were ever such that Congress would be willing to take action. Berlin seems to function well enough as both a city-state and a national capital, after all."

Evie paused when she realized that Chris had stopped halfway across a street crossing to take a photograph of a pedestrian crossing light, then delete it and retake a clearer shot a few steps closer.

"Louise will think it's cute," he explained somewhat defensively as Evie practically dragged him out of the middle of the street by an elbow.

"The _Ampelmännchen_? Yeah. You can buy all sorts of paraphernalia featuring him, if you want – a bit of Soviet-era ' _Ostalgia_ ' to take home, as Käthe put it."

"Well, that explains why he doesn't strike a familiar chord," said Chris with a grim smile. "When I was here last, back during my college days, there was a somewhat inconvenient wall built through the center of the city."

"So you missed half the sights, is what you're saying," Evie interpreted. "We'll have to change that, then. Unter den Linden is an obligatory stop, if you've never seen the Brandenburg Gate from the East Berlin side, and it's somewhat en route."

"Fair enough," Chris agreed, following Evie as she crossed the street in a new direction.

They continued along in a companionable silence. Around them, briskly-paced professionals in business suits brokered deals on their cell phones, parents scolded their children not to run too far ahead, tourists consulted maps and each other in an attempt to locate points of interest. _Just like they do back home in Washington_ , Chris reflected. It was somewhat incredible to realize how much of their interactions he understood without comprehending a word of the languages they spoke.

"Remember the days before digital cameras?" Evie asked eventually. "When you'd buy those disposable cameras that gave you 31 or 32 shots, and you had to wait with baited breath for the film to be developed at the store to see if your photos were any good? Do you think that people were more discriminating about what they chose to photograph, when they had limited resources and knew that strangers were processing and probably judging their photos?"

"Oh, probably. To be honest, I've never been much of one for taking photos – it always felt like I was missing the experiences themselves when I had to view them through a lens."

"How noble of you to be pushing yourself outside of your comfort zone, then."

"As aforementioned, it's not like I was doing a whole lot of heavy-lifting at the colloquium, anyway," Chris shrugged. "I spent far more time than I would have liked wandering the fields around Christ Church, taking photos of foliage."

"It takes a rare personality to make a sojourn in the tranquility of the English countryside sound like a punishment," Evie noted wryly.

"Not all of us aspire to live the life of a character from a Jane Austen novel," Chris retorted.

Evie rolled her eyes skywards with a quiet, exasperated sigh. Chris noticed.

"How's the conference been going?" he asked, almost apologetically. "Have the Germans requested that you take up permanent residence in Karlsruhe yet?"

"Käthe's asked me about six times to come visit, at the very least – does that count?"

"Close enough. Have you been before?"

"You know, I actually haven't, but I've always meant to make a trip over there, and I'm confident we'll work something out before Käthe's term is up. So, if you're interested in taking part in a delegation to the Federal Constitutional Court at some point in the near future..."

"If Karlsruhe is as pleasant as Berlin seems to be, I might not say no," Chris replied. "Remind me again how you know her?"

"Käthe? Law school, actually. She was finishing up an LL.M. during my 3L year, and we got to know each other through Larry's class. He couldn't make it to this conference, which might not be a bad thing for me and Käthe, at least; Jane Sedgewick told me over breakfast the other day that the last time she saw Larry at a summit, he couldn't resist reminding everyone that two of his former students are, respectively, the Chief Justice of the United States and the President of the _Bundesverfassungsgericht_."

"You've been practicing saying that all week, haven't you."

"In fact, I have, although I suspect you wouldn't even notice if I said it incorrectly. Jane says hello to you, by the way."

"I ran into Percy Atherton at Oxford, and he mentioned that a number of his fellow Law Lords were en route to Berlin, Lady Jane included."

"Justices, you mean," Evie corrected him. "That's what they've been called, ever since the UK Supreme Court was established. And yes, when I told her where you were, Jane mentioned that Lord Atherton would be there, and Lord Gainsborough, and Professor Spaulding, too. Quite the illustrious crowd."

"Quite. Although we also had to put up with Lord John Marbury. I assume you remember him from his days romping around Washington?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Evie smirked. "What was _he_ , of all people, doing at a colloquium on Christian ethics?"

"He technically was in town to give a lecture on foreign policy at Balliol, but apparently he couldn't resist dropping in on our receptions and being his typical obnoxious self. As Percy put it, he always assumes he's invited to these kinds of gatherings, even when he's not."

"I'm somehow not surprised," replied Evie, rolling her eyes slightly. "He also always assumes that he has the right to call me 'Stephanie' whenever we meet, having informed me years ago of his opinion that 'Evelyn' is most properly used as a man's name."

Chris snorted, and stopped to train his camera on the impressively-columned façade of some government building or another.

"You know, I'm beginning to think that the reason you've never liked taking photos is because you're as much of a perfectionist about photography as you are about everything else," Evie commented after about fifteen seconds of waiting.

"I never said I didn't _like_ taking photos," Chris corrected her, taking a step to the left, then changing his mind and moving back to his original position. "Just that the process was distracting when I was trying to enjoy my kids' birthday parties and so forth."

"Fair enough, but you'll find it's far less distracting when you don't hold yourself to the standard of an Ansel Adams or Dorothea Lange on every single shot."

Chris chose to ignore her until he had gotten the photo that he wanted.

"I'm steeling myself to spend a solid ten minutes waiting for you to take one satisfactory photo of the Brandenburg Gate," Evie teased him. "Please don't tell me you're one of those people who waits for all of the tourists to clear the frame, so that it's postcard-perfect?"

"Of course not," sniffed Chris. "If that were the case, I'd just buy a postcard."

Evie laughed as they rounded a corner onto Unter den Linden, and Chris stopped again to admire the view.

"Huh." Chris smiled. "Looks just like it does on TV."

"If you want to take a moment to reenact any famous presidential speeches, I promise I won't tell anyone."

"I'll pass, thank you." Chris admired the Brandenburg Gate a moment longer, then glanced at Evie. "Can you take two, maybe three steps forward?"

"Shouldn't I be taking a photo of _you_? This is for your wife, after all."

"She has plenty of pictures of me already, and she'll scold me severely if you don't turn up in any of these, given that I'm only in Berlin right now because you are." Chris gestured Evie forward and, after a moment, she obligingly complied, although she couldn't resist tapping her foot pointedly as Chris continued to tinker with his camera long after her face muscles had given up on smiling.

"All right, Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close-up," she quipped at him eventually.

"Patience is a virtue, Evelyn," Chris replied, unruffled. "Great, three, two..."

Evie smiled again for the camera, and then accepted a passing tourist's offer to take a photo of both her and Chris, before Chris could object.

"Not bad," she said of the resulting picture, once Chris had gotten his camera back. "Especially given how quick and painless that was..."

"In fairness, I had already primed the focus and lighting," Chris retorted.

"Well, if you do come with me to Karlsruhe, you're going to have to promise not to slow the entire delegation down with your perfectionist tendencies," Evie winked as the two jurists wandered off of the boulevard and towards their destination.

"That seems fair. I'll take photographs of the local sights while you sit around and discuss why we should consider constricting free speech, and so forth."

"You might be shocked to know that no one at any of these international judicial conferences has _ever_ suggested that the _United States_ constrict its free speech laws," Evie retorted, even though she knew full well that Chris was just goading her. "And it's not like we don't have restrictions on speech, like fighting words, that aren't somewhat comparable to what they have here; Germany just lowers the standard of scrutiny for limiting speech that is hateful but isn't in imminent danger of inciting violence or other lawless action."

"And I understand that, but I still don't think it's at all unreasonable to hold a fundamental right like expression to heightened scrutiny."

The buildings around them suddenly gave way to open sky. Chris followed Evie across the street, and the pair stopped before the rows and rows of concrete stelae rolling away into the distance before them.

"Well, I wouldn't say that the Germans have a perfect way of dealing with expression, either," Evie said after a long moment. "But, given their past, it makes perfect sense to me that their restrictions on hate speech are as tight as they are."

The two stood reflectively before the monument for a short while longer. Chris briefly considered taking a photograph or two, decided that his time would be better spent in respectful contemplation, and then instead ended up glowering at some tourists who were making no effort to stop their children from clambering all over one of the nearby stelae.

"Incredible disregard for the solemnity of a place like this," he muttered to Evie, gesturing towards the family with a nod of his head.

"Apparently, there have been some uproars over people taking silly or irreverent selfies here. Although I spent yesterday evening reading an interesting interview with the architect, who says he doesn't have a problem with kids playing and families picnicking around the grounds."

"At a _Holocaust_ _memorial_? You have to be kidding me."

"Well," said Evie with a shrug, "his opinion was that people should feel free to use a public space in whatever way they choose. Perhaps an unsurprising outlook on free expression, coming from an American. Needless to say, not everyone agrees with him on that view, or on his extremely abstract design for the memorial in and of itself."

Chris let out a huff of exasperation.

"I may think that people should have the right to do and say most distasteful things, but I reserve the right to think that they're idiots," he said.

"I don't think that the German Constitutional Court disagrees with you. I think they just draw the line in a slightly different place than you do, so that, for them, displaying swastikas and denying the Holocaust fall outside that category of 'most distasteful things' into the actually-impermissible. And again, I'm not saying that that's the standard that we should adopt in the U.S.," Evie clarified before Chris could say anything. "It's just that I don't think their limitations are as draconian as you make them out to be, all things considered."

"Well, I remain heartened to hear that you don't think we should be governed by any law other than American law," Chris muttered, glancing at his watch. "It's twenty of. Are we going to be late?"

"I think we should be fine, although we should probably get going." Evie began walking again, at a slightly brisker pace than before. "Don't want to miss the first movement, after all."

"True, although I don't really get all that emotionally involved until the second."

"Blasphemy," Evie scolded him. "How can you not get drawn in by those opening chords?"

"The first few seconds honestly just sound to me like an orchestra tuning," Chris shrugged.

"You're impossible." Evie shook her head with a bemused smile. "You know, the last time Bernstein ever conducted the Ninth was Christmas 1989 in Berlin, to celebrate the fall of the Wall."

"So I recall. Fitting, I suppose, to celebrate the symbolic reunification of Germany with a symphony exulting the brotherhood of mankind."

"Ah, but there was an additional twist. In the fourth movement, Bernstein swapped out every instance of _Freude_ for _Freiheit_ , so that Schiller's _Ode to Joy_ became an _Ode to Freedom_ , instead." Evie winked at Chris. "Thought you might appreciate that, even if it's not a particularly originalist reading of Schiller."

"Coming from several days' worth of Thomist reflection, I'm actually inclined to stick with Schiller as written."

"Oh? Please do enlighten me; I don't know enough about natural law to understand the reference."

"I can't really dive into everything between now and the uninspiring start to Beethoven's _magnum opus_ , but in brief: What Aquinas calls 'natural law' is the extension by which humans, who alone of all creatures possess reason and will, use both attributes to participate in eternal law. And eternal law is, as the name implies, the divine order set by God, which dictates that goodness is to be done and pursued, and evil is to be avoided. Aquinas takes the Aristotelian view that our actions can be viewed as good or bad based on how much they contribute to our happiness. But what differentiates Aquinas from Aristotle is that Aquinas believes that true happiness can only be achieved through actions guided by Christian virtues, which will ultimately allow us to be perfected through union with God, who is perfect goodness. So, while the freedom to exercise our rational capacities as humans is an essential part of Thomist theology, because it allows us to make choices that are truly good, the overall objective of human existence is the attainment of beatific joy through moral perfection and the grace of God. And that's why I can and will wholeheartedly endorse the original version of Beethoven's Ninth, with all due respect to the genius of Leonard Bernstein."

"I see. Well, I think I understand your argument, _vis à vis_ Beethoven, but I feel like I should read up on the subject before I claim to have grasped everything completely."

"Fair, although I'm not letting you have my copy of Aquinas until we get back home. Need I remind you of that time we were in Buenos Aires for some judicial exchange, and you somehow managed to 'borrow' every single book I'd brought with me, by the time the program was over?"

"I thought the only time I did that was in Seoul."

"I'd forgotten about Seoul; and no, you also did it in Argentina, because I distinctly remember puzzling my way through a Spanish-language cop show for nearly two hours straight while waiting for my plane home to board, for lack of any worthwhile English-language materials to read. I should really just buy you an e-reader for Christmas."

"Come on, Chris, you know I'll never use it..."

"That's apparently what everyone says, at first, and then they all become firm adherents."

Evie rolled her eyes.

"OK, well, if you're not going to loan me your book while on foreign soil, you'll have to fill me in on the nuts and bolts of what Aquinas believed natural law dictated."

"Not too different from what we'd consider self-evident, inalienable rights – respect for life, participation in civil society, and so forth. You can see how Jefferson was influenced by natural law philosophers, I'm sure."

"Indeed." Evie grinned. "You know, for all of your skepticism when it comes to foreign and international law, you'd actually approve of how much of Jefferson has seeped into, say, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Having been written in direct reaction to crimes against humanity during World War II, it places an incredibly high value on the notions of human dignity and fundamental rights and freedoms."

"Really."

" 'All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights. They are endowed with reason and conscience and should act towards one another in a spirit of brotherhood,' " Evie quoted. "There are more than a few Jeffersonian echoes in there; it sounds like one might even argue a bit of Thomism is present in the bit about reason and conscience."

"I'll accept that. I really have nothing against the Universal Declaration, in principle; I just don't think it can and should be used as binding law for Americans."

"And that's more than fair enough." Evie contemplated the darkening sky. "I'd never really considered that Western constitutional thought has been converging on what you'd call natural law principles over the past half-century. I've always been most interested in comparative law because of the historical and cultural _differences_ between countries – how over fifty years of totalitarian rule in East Germany impacted this country's outlook on expression and privacy and a host of other issues that we approach somewhat differently in the States. But I've never given quite as much thought to the underlying similarities, like the fact that the Basic Law of Germany leans pretty heavily on the same language of self-evident, fundamental rights that can be found in both the Universal Declaration and our Declaration of Independence."

"Probably because it, too, was drafted under the watch of Americans, postwar?" Chris offered.

"Undoubtedly that has something to do with it." Evie smiled slightly. "I guess if I were to put it metaphorically, it's like your photos for Louise. Usually, I'd be inclined to ask what pictures you'd take that were specific to her interests, rather than ones that you'd take on any generic trip to Germany. And perhaps I should be paying just as much attention to the photos of the Brandenburg Gate and Checkpoint Charlie and other iconic landmarks that I'd _assume_ any tourist in Berlin would photograph – the similarities that I take for granted that I really shouldn't. If traveling through Europe should remind me of anything, it's that democracy and freedom and respect for fundamental rights are incredibly fragile things that shouldn't be taken for granted."

Chris nodded as the Berlin Philharmonie came into view down the block.

"Maybe that convergence is just a recognition of our small role in expressing on earth the truths of eternal law," he offered, mostly to tease Evie, because that sort of comment was bound to provoke some commentary on the Establishment Clause.

To his surprise, though, Evie merely nodded reflectively.

" _Über'm Sternenzelt muss ein lieber Vater wohnen_ ," she responded. "On a night like tonight, I'll take that explanation."

"I didn't realize that German courses came with your conference."

"Schiller," Evie explained with a grin. "I've sung Beethoven's Ninth enough times over the years that some of the words have stuck. It's really lovely poetry, when you think about it: _All men become brothers where Joy's gentle wings rest_. You can see why they chose it for the anthem of the European Union."

"Perhaps overly idealistic," laughed Chris, "given the reality of modern politics and the tenuous state of the EU."

"Perhaps," Evie agreed as they entered the foyer of the concert hall, "but how much worse off would the world be, without idealism to inspire us to dream of a better reality?"

Chris pondered this as Evie picked up their tickets at will call ("Enjoy the concert, Mr. and Mrs. Lang," said the young box office assistant earnestly as he handed over the envelope, causing the two Justices to suppress a shared laugh as they walked towards their seats). He was fairly certain that Evie didn't believe in the notion of eternal law in the same religious sense that he did, but he understood very clearly that she still believed in some sort of underlying order to human interactions, even if that order was not divinely mandated. Although his own version of idealism was highly Aquinian in nature, and Evie's was very likely based in a firmly-held and fairly secular belief in the intrinsic goodness of humans, he suspected that the two functioned similarly, even if their starting and ending points lay in two different places. That probably explained a fair amount about his and Evie's relationship generally, he reflected as they found their seats.

Evie, for her part, had been struck by a very slight pang of sorrow upon being mistaken as one half of "Mr. and Mrs. Lang," and that melancholy lingered even as she shared a laugh over the moment with Chris. But her mood improved as the two sat and skimmed their programs in agreeable silence, their shoulders almost touching in a comforting closeness. As the lights dimmed and the orchestra began to tune, Chris turned towards her slightly and raised his eyebrows (no doubt in reference to his feelings about the very beginning of the symphony), and she nudged his arm very gently with her elbow, returning his conspiratorial smile. She knew that Chris probably thought that she was whimsical and slightly perplexing for so sincerely wanting to believe that the similarities between people outweighed their differences, but she also knew that he would expect and accept that degree of optimism from her by this point in their friendship, and that his respect for her would not be lessened by it. Perhaps it was too idealistic to believe that the world could be made better than it was, that people could learn to live harmoniously with one another; and yet here she was, listening to the first quiet, stirring notes of a symphony that had been born of the frustration and hope of a composer who had become so deaf he could barely hear his own music, that had been embraced throughout the world even in periods of warfare and international tension, that had accompanied the crumbling of walls and the building of unifying institutions, that now was being appreciated and shared by a hall filled with strangers and friends.

Evie didn't need to glance sidelong at Chris to be acutely aware of his presence, of the fact that she was sitting next to a man who was simultaneously her fiercest adversary and her closest friend, and that in spite of their many differences, they had chosen in this moment to experience together something extraordinary and somewhat inexplicable. Nevertheless, she leaned slightly closer to him so that their shoulders were once again just barely touching, a physical manifestation of their mutual affection and solidarity, before letting herself become lost in the music that enveloped them both.

* * *

Author's Note: By all rights, this chapter should be called, "In which the author has entirely too many feelings about comparative law, international law, German constitutional law, Cold War-era Berlin, modern Berlin, the European Union, Leonard Bernstein, and Beethoven." I apologize for the excess of feelings on all of these points, as well as for the fact that I actually don't know all that much about natural law; it came up in a conversation with a friend the other day, and I decided to do some research for writing purposes, but it's been years since I've actually sat down and properly read any Aquinas, so I'll ask the forgiveness and gentle correction of any philosophers or theologians who can point out exactly what I've gotten wrong.

I also realize that, in this chapter, I've committed a cardinal sin by "West Wing" standards in obliquely referencing a post-Eisenhower president (i.e., Reagan's famous "Tear Down This Wall" speech). Apologies to Sorkin & Co., even if, in my defense, I left the reference intentionally vague. Also, the concert of the inimitable Leonard Bernstein conducting Beethoven's Ninth in Berlin in 1989 can be found in multiple places on YouTube and is well worth the watching.

For those of you who are interested, the mentioned debates about the Holocaust Memorial in Berlin are numerous and, in my opinion, totally fascinating. The interview with the American architect of the monument that Evie mentions in the chapter was published in _Der Spiegel_ just before the monument's opening in May 2005; I'm still not sure what I personally think about the architect's perspectives or approach to building the monument, but the discussions that have been had around its design and public use have given me ample food for thought about memorialization as a process, if nothing else.

Lastly, I know that this chapter is super, super long, and I really just attribute that to the fact that my time with Evie and Chris is rapidly drawing to a close, and I'm having a hard time letting them go. Expect the final chapter up within the next few days, since it's probably best for me to tear off this emotional band-aid as quickly as possible...


	16. Equal Protection of the Laws

AMENDMENT XIV

 _Passed by Congress June 13, 1866. Ratified July 9, 1868._

 **Note:** Article I, section 2, of the Constitution was modified by section 2 of the 14th amendment.

Section 1.

All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside. No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.

Section 2.

Representatives shall be apportioned among the several States according to their respective numbers, counting the whole number of persons in each State, excluding Indians not taxed. But when the right to vote at any election for the choice of electors for President and Vice-President of the United States, Representatives in Congress, the Executive and Judicial officers of a State, or the members of the Legislature thereof, is denied to any of the male inhabitants of such State, being twenty-one years of age,* and citizens of the United States, or in any way abridged, except for participation in rebellion, or other crime, the basis of representation therein shall be reduced in the proportion which the number of such male citizens shall bear to the whole number of male citizens twenty-one years of age in such State.

Section 3.

No person shall be a Senator or Representative in Congress, or elector of President and Vice-President, or hold any office, civil or military, under the United States, or under any State, who, having previously taken an oath, as a member of Congress, or as an officer of the United States, or as a member of any State legislature, or as an executive or judicial officer of any State, to support the Constitution of the United States, shall have engaged in insurrection or rebellion against the same, or given aid or comfort to the enemies thereof. But Congress may by a vote of two-thirds of each House, remove such disability.

Section 4.

The validity of the public debt of the United States, authorized by law, including debts incurred for payment of pensions and bounties for services in suppressing insurrection or rebellion, shall not be questioned. But neither the United States nor any State shall assume or pay any debt or obligation incurred in aid of insurrection or rebellion against the United States, or any claim for the loss or emancipation of any slave; but all such debts, obligations and claims shall be held illegal and void.

Section 5.

The Congress shall have the power to enforce, by appropriate legislation, the provisions of this article.

 _*Changed by section 1 of the 26th amendment._

* * *

C-SPAN: Reporting from the United States Supreme Court, we are joined now by Chief Justice Evelyn Baker Lang and Associate Justice Christopher Mulready. Thank you both for taking the time to sit down with me.

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: The pleasure's ours.

C-SPAN: It's probably not an exaggeration to say that you joined the Court together under some of the most unusual circumstances in American judicial history. Would you tell us about how you look back on that moment in time, over a decade later?

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: Hmm...

JUSTICE MULREADY: Well, I... sorry.

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: No, go ahead, Chris.

JUSTICE MULREADY: All right, then, I think I can speak for both of us when I say that it was one of the strangest experiences of my life. And probably one of the best. I can't presume to speak for the Chief Justice on this point, but I'm fairly certain that my path to the Court would have been extremely different and far less amiable, if I hadn't been sold as part of a package deal, as it were.

C-SPAN: Chief Justice Lang?

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: I agree with everything that Justice Mulready has already said, and I'll add that it was comforting to know that there was one other person in the world who was going through the exact same torturous process at the exact same time. We knew each other before our nominations –

JUSTICE MULREADY: I'd go so far as to call us friends!

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: _[laughing]_ Fair enough, then – we were friends before our nominations, but there's no bonding experience like acting as each other's political buffer before the Senate Judiciary Committee, is there?

JUSTICE MULREADY: Trench warfare, perhaps.

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: If you hadn't already noticed from his dissents, he has a much stronger flair for hyperbolic analogies than I do.

JUSTICE MULREADY: She's absolutely right, all glibness aside.

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: But to return to what you were saying a moment ago, Chris, it was actually pretty interesting comparing our nomination process to what our colleagues had been through. I certainly felt much less constrained by the typical evasive etiquette of confirmation hearings, in any event, and I think it was precisely because of our parallel nominations that I didn't feel the need to hide the ball.

JUSTICE MULREADY: Right. Having manufactured the parameters of our nominations as they did, the Senate was under no real illusion as to where either of us stood ideologically, and the fact that we were designated foils for each other meant that we had much more freedom to be candid about our beliefs, so long as the more controversial of those beliefs were balanced out by the other side.

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: Which they usually were.

C-SPAN: So you attribute that shared experience to your infamously close friendship on the bench?

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: In part. Possibly. But I like to think that we would have become equally fast co-conspirators, even if we'd been elevated separately.

JUSTICE MULREADY: I think that's right. Again, we became friends of our own accord before any of this...

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: Thanks to a few rounds of intensely thought-provoking debate and a fortuitous encounter at a remarkably terrible opera production...

JUSTICE MULREADY: Which we probably should have left at intermission, only you didn't want to.

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: Well, playing disgruntled amateur arts critics was a means of bonding in and of itself, wasn't it?

JUSTICE MULREADY: True.

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: But, to finish the point that Chris was trying to make before I derailed him, we probably had enough in common and compatible enough personalities coming into all of this, that we would have ended up close friends, regardless.

JUSTICE MULREADY: Precisely.

C-SPAN: Which leads me to the question that I'm sure people are always asking you: How _do_ you manage to remain such close friends, when you clearly have such different views of the law?

JUSTICE MULREADY: Well, first and foremost, I know that she's always operating with the very best of intentions, even when I don't agree with her, and that goes a long way in staving off rounds of fisticuffs in conference. And I wouldn't say that we have _different_ views of the law. We both do our best to faithfully and neutrally apply the law, and sometimes I'm just more right than she is.

C-SPAN: Madam Chief Justice, are you going to take that bait?

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: I'll start by concurring wholeheartedly with Justice Mulready on the point about faith in each other's good intentions being the cornerstone of a successful judicial relationship. But yes, I will, because when he dangles a point of contention right there in front of me, I really can't resist biting.

I realize that I'm about to say things that will probably make my colleague's head explode, but if you want my candid opinion, of course judges aren't perfectly neutral arbiters of the law. Neutrality is an extremely lofty standard, and while I think it's noble for judges to aspire to be perfectly neutral, it's just not a realistic goal, given the fact that we are all human and are inherently shaped by our personal biases in ways that we sometimes can't even recognize. Of course we always do our very best to faithfully apply the law, with as much fairness as we can, and in many cases, two judges with very different outlooks will reach the exact same conclusion, given a set of facts. But the Supreme Court exists to tackle the cases that are more complicated than a routine application of precedent or statute. I know that we like to pretend that even in those tougher cases, we're umpires calling balls and strikes, but let's be absolutely honest and admit to ourselves that our rulings are, in fact, influenced by our life experiences and, relatedly, by our values systems.

Take an issue like marriage equality, for example, which we decided last term. My opinion agreed with the attorneys that argued that same-sex and transgender and queer couples across the United States should be accorded the same legal rights and dignity as heterosexual couples, under the Due Process and Equal Protection Clauses of the Fourteenth Amendment. Justice Mulready's opinion, on the other hand, agreed with the attorneys that argued that marriage wasn't addressed in the Constitution as a power enumerated to the federal government, and should therefore fall under the exclusive purview of the States, as dictated by the Tenth Amendment. Both perspectives are well-supported by analogous prior case law and are firmly grounded in the text of the Constitution.

So, is one perspective _better_ than the other? Is one more _correct_ than the other? People can and will disagree, and ultimately, each individual's determination of which of two valid arguments is "right" or "more correct" hinges on which argument more closely aligns with that individual's system of values. And the same goes for judges, because in the end, we're just people trying our hardest to do what's right. I don't think that the reality of being a human being should be considered a failing, and I don't think that it should be branded with the label of "judicial activism" – which does occur, by the way, but that label should really be reserved for situations in which judges have the audacity to invent laws that don't exist, or to issue rulings that opine on matters that aren't even germane to the facts of the case at hand. My point is that people of equal intelligence and thoughtfulness reach differing conclusions all the time, because the very act of judging requires them to prioritize one argument over another. And we should all be OK with admitting and respecting that, so long as those people are well-intentioned and have based their conclusions in their most honest reading of the law.

I should also clarify that acknowledging how our values direct how we choose between two excellent arguments should _not_ be equated with simply trying to reach a policy conclusion. I think that Chris would agree with me that any good judge can point to a dozen or so cases in which she or he was more convinced by a legal argument that went against an outcome that she or he would have chosen from a policy perspective.

C-SPAN: Justice Mulready, I take it you want to respond to all of this?

JUSTICE MULREADY: Sure, since by some small miracle, my head hasn't yet exploded.

I don't agree, as the Chief Justice well knows. Look, we're a court of common law, which means that we are bound by precedent, we are bound by statute, we are bound by the text of the Constitution. There's no room in the work that we do for "judicial empathy" or whatever it's being called nowadays. We're given a set of facts, and we have to read the relevant texts – be they statutes, or constitutional articles, or analogous prior opinions – and, without pulling fantastical interpretations out of their usually cut-and-dried parameters, apply the plain-text meaning of the law stated by those texts to the facts at hand. It's as simple as that. Neutral, one might even argue.

What becomes dangerous is when judges begin to overstep the bounds of their place within our structure of government. Chief Justice Marshall wrote in _Marbury_ that it is "emphatically the province and duty of the Judicial Department to say what the law is." The courts are not supposed to be in the business of saying what the law _should_ be. Congress was created specifically as a body with the power to design and debate policy; that's not a role that the Founders ever envisioned the courts would play. Article III judges are appointed to life-time tenures (subject to their "good behavior") because it's so crucial to the rule of law that we have judges who will _not_ be politicians concerned about popular opinion or the next election. Judges need that sort of job security, if you will, to ensure that their first obligation is to the law, not to the voters. We have to make very unpopular decisions sometimes, and it's essential that we are able to do so with the clear-sightedness provided by knowing that we will not be persecuted for following the law, however distasteful to public opinion.

But, at the same time, the fact that judges are not beholden to the people means that it's all the more important for them to be fair and above partisan politics. Judges can't have political agendas, because that would completely undermine the confidence of the populace in the courts. And that's why originalism, although far from perfect, is the most palatable mode of constitutional interpretation. No one wants to walk into a court and feel that the outcome of their case hinges completely on the policy objectives of the presiding judge. By demanding that judges adhere to one standard – that of the original public meaning of the words of the Constitution – originalism safeguards that neutrality that the Chief Justice thinks is so impossible to achieve.

And if we're going to relitigate gay marriage here and now, the Constitution lays out some very specific guidelines, of which the Tenth Amendment is one...

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: But, since its ratification, the Fourteenth Amendment has been an equally legitimate guideline. And both due process and equal protection...

JUSTICE MULREADY: No one was saying that gay individuals couldn't get married.

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: What, just that they couldn't get married to each other?

JUSTICE MULREADY: There was nothing that prevented a couple from Texas from traveling to a state like, say, Massachusetts, to enter into a union...

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: ...that, given the federal government's passage of the Defense of Marriage Act, wouldn't be recognized upon their return to their home state, which certainly smells a lot like anti-miscegenation laws pre- _Loving_...

JUSTICE MULREADY: Well, as you're more than well aware, we struck DOMA down.

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: Indeed, we did. It was terrible overreach on the part of the federal government, after all, as your concurrence noted.

JUSTICE MULREADY: But just because I agreed that DOMA disrespected states' rights because it forced all states to adopt one definition of marriage, doesn't mean that I agree that the federal government has any right to then _insist_ that all states adopt _additional_ definitions of marriage, against their will. If we return to the hypothetical couple from Texas that goes to Massachusetts for their wedding, with DOMA gone and Full Faith and Credit very much still intact, there's nothing – _nothing_ – that prevents them from getting married in one jurisdiction that permits it...

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: Oh, nothing except for the fact that such travel costs aren't just readily available for some people who I'm sure would love to bring their entire families to Massachusetts for their weddings! And then the fact that they'd have to return to a state that chose not to recognize their commitment to each other...

JUSTICE MULREADY: _Full Faith and Credit_ , Evie...

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: You can't deny that many, many states and jurisdictions included in their local laws banning same-sex marriage language _specifically_ designed to ban recognition of same-sex marriages conducted in other states.

JUSTICE MULREADY: And many of those bans on recognition were struck down by courts, so clearly the system was functioning fine before we interfered in what should have been a democratic process led by popular or legislative votes...

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: I just don't see how you can say that. The very purpose of the courts is to protect fundamental rights from being overridden by a majority...

JUSTICE MULREADY: Marriage is _not_ a fundamental right.

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: I would again refer you to Earl Warren's opinion for a unanimous Court in _Loving v. Virginia_.

JUSTICE MULREADY: I think she's making fun of me right now.

C-SPAN: Oh?

JUSTICE MULREADY: The Warren Court was, after all, where the ridiculous expansion of substantive due process beyond the bounds of its reasonable interpretation began...

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: Be careful, Chris.

JUSTICE MULREADY: I'm merely criticizing the liberties taken by the Warren Court in usurping the place of elected officials to enact popularly-supported legislation. And to clarify for anyone who is callow or vindictive enough to misinterpret my point, of _course_ I think that interracial couples should be able to marry, however much I disagree with the overall trajectory of the Court during the time period during which _Loving_ was decided. There, are you satisfied?

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: It's your interview; you're free to say whatever you'd like. I just thought I would remind you that, knowing history has its eyes on you, you might want to temper with clarifications anything that could be easily misinterpreted.

JUSTICE MULREADY: Well, who's to say that I'm the one who should worrying about my legacy? I don't relish the fact that the Lang Court will be remembered for undermining something as crucial to our understanding of a civilized society as the definition of marriage...

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: Oh, please, you're predicating an argument on a religious definition of marriage that runs blatantly against our commitment to upholding a nondenominational, pluralistic society, as demanded by the Establishment Clause of the First Amendment.

JUSTICE MULREADY: It's _not_ just a religious argument, it's a cultural argument that has shaped and stabilized not only our society, but the societies from which our national culture was derived. Besides, the Establishment Clause only dictates that _Congress_ cannot establish a national religion; but marriage, up until our erroneous decision, had been the province of the states to determine.

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: Except for all of the other times that the Court has weighed in on the constitutionality of laws impacting marriage – _Zablocki v. Redhail_ , _Turner v. Safley_ , and need I mention _Loving_ again? Besides, even if a state _did_ establish its own religion, you would run up against the issues of incorporation...

JUSTICE MULREADY: Which only applies to individual rights, so _not_ the Establishment Clause...

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: _And_ federal preemption, under which the Equal Protection Clause of the Constitution would indisputably take supremacy over any state-established religion.

JUSTICE MULREADY: But if the government determines that parties are being given unequal treatment for the purpose of upholding a rational government interest, then the Equal Protection Clause can't be violated.

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: How on earth is defining marriage as between one man and one woman a "rational government interest"?

JUSTICE MULREADY: Familial stability, procreation, the ability of children to be reared in a moral environment with the guidance of a parent of their own biological sex...

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: Sure, because heterosexual partners never get divorced, infertile heterosexual couples shouldn't be permitted to marry, and children can't be raised succesfully by single parents of the opposite sex. Anything else?

JUSTICE MULREADY: Well, as an originalist, of course I would be remiss to point out that the writers of the Fourteenth Amendment would _never_ have intended for it to have covered gay marriage or a host of other issues now covered by the amendment's so-called penumbras.

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: And, as you know, I simply can't agree with a mode of constitutional interpretation that is based on the notion that the meaning of the Constitution is frozen in time. Especially if it happens to be frozen at a time when so many people were disenfranchised by a government limited by its own cultural biases...

JUSTICE MULREADY: Evie, we've been over this a thousand times, and I'm sure I don't need to remind you of how the amendment process works...

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: Even taking into account the fact that laws can be changed and the Constitution can be amended, it just doesn't make sense to try to impose upon a modern country the sensibilities and legal norms of an era where such inequality was permissible. After all, at the time of the writing of the Fourteenth Amendment, segregation was the norm throughout large swaths of the country and women were barred from voting in federal elections, Equal Protection Clause be damned. John Marshall himself wrote in _McCulloch_ that "a Constitution intended to endure for ages to come" must be "adapted to the various crises of human affairs," and I'm inclined to give a fair amount of deference to the man who essentially sculpted the role of the federal judiciary, as we know it.

JUSTICE MULREADY: And I would agree with Chief Justice Marshall, because of course we have to deal with sets of facts that were unimaginable to a society that didn't have cars or the internet, and adapt our previous understandings of the law to fit those new circumstances. But that doesn't mean that the _values_ on which this country was founded have changed, and even if analogies have to be drawn from older precedents to fit advances in technology and the like, our system of law should strive to uphold the values that our Founding Fathers enshrined in the Constitution.

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: Well, sure, that sounds reasonable enough, but where would we be if the dastardly Warren Court hadn't overturned sixty years of legal precedent and two hundred years of constitutionally-approved values, in desegregating public schools?

JUSTICE MULREADY: _Brown_ was the correct interpretation of the Equal Protection Clause. The writers of the Fourteenth Amendment would never have intended for it to be interpreted as "separate but equal" as the Court did in _Plessy_...

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: Funny you should bring the will of the Amendment's writers into this, because I thought that original intent was passé within most Federalist Society circles, and original public meaning was all the rage nowadays. And clearly, the original public meaning of "equal protection of the laws" was ambiguous or divided enough across the country that the Court could very easily justify perpetuating segregation in _Plessy_. After all, even today a large segment of the American public will tolerate "separate but equal" as a viable definition of equality when it comes to, say, letting transgender individuals use public bathrooms...

JUSTICE MULREADY: Well, I believe that the government has a legitimate interest in preventing people of one biological sex from using the bathroom of the opposite biological sex. It's as simple as that.

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: You're conflating sex with gender, and you're completely ignoring the fact that a person born biologically male who presents as female is subject to much more danger using the men's bathroom than she would pose using the women's bathroom.

JUSTICE MULREADY: Even if that's true, my job is not to make policy to address these issues. My job is to ensure that the law is followed as its parameters were understood at the time of the passage of the Fourteenth Amendment, and I think that anyone circa 1868 would agree that men should not use women's restrooms, and vice versa.

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: Just as anyone circa 1868 would agree that interracial couples have the right to marry? Because if popular opinion circa ratification is going to be our gauge for "original public meaning," then it's worth noting that approval of interracial marriage was as low as 4% as recently as 1958...

JUSTICE MULREADY: The original public meaning of the Equal Protection Clause remains the same, regardless of popular opinion at the time.

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: OK, then, based on the rationale that "separate but equal" was wrong in 1868, and assuming that you would agree that transgender Americans – whether a protected class or no – are citizens entitled to the full and unequivocal protection of the Constitution, why shouldn't your originalist definition of equal protection apply to them now just as strongly as it should have applied to African Americans circa _Plessy_ , when government officials argued just as forcefully (and just as erroneously) that keeping the black and white races apart was a compelling government interest?

JUSTICE MULREADY: As I've already made clear, both today and many times before, originalism isn't a perfect system. But what would you propose in its stead? A "living Constitution" that gives judges license to act like politicians? That's sheer and utter poppycock.

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: While I fully concede that you make a fair point about how perceptions of judges with political agendas would damage the image of the courts, I might point out that it's equally injurious to the ideal of judicial objectivity for a party to enter a courtroom and feel that they can easily predict the outcome of a case based on the presiding judge's extremely rigid judicial ideology. And I know you're of the unshakeable opinion that the Constitution is "dead, dead, dead," but I would still argue that the document is intentionally flexible enough that its meaning can and should be adapted to fit the times, as a matter of pure pragmatism.

JUSTICE MULREADY: Whose adaptations, though? And whose idea of pragmatism?

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: As we sit on an appellate court, I'd argue that any particularly radical definition of pragmatism would be tempered by the reasoning and votes of our colleagues...

JUSTICE MULREADY: And what about judges at the trial level, who don't have the privilege of sitting on panels or having to convince other judges of the soundness of their reasoning?

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: My model of judicial pragmatism is just as imperfect as your model of originalism, Chris.

JUSTICE MULREADY: Exactly. Which brings us back to the conundrum of how to create a fair, neutral judiciary, in the absence of a guiding framework, like the one that originalism provides.

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: Well, here's a thought: What if neutrality is the wrong objective? Again, I don't think it's possible for any human being to be perfectly neutral, and that's doubly true of federal judges with plenty of life experience. So, instead, perhaps we should be striving for something more like open-mindedness, which embraces our human flaws and acknowledges them, while emphasizing the possibility of being swayed by one good argument or another, in spite of our pre-existing biases. I think that that seems like a much more fair and reasonable standard, frankly.

JUSTICE MULREADY: I don't disagree, since originalism and open-mindedness are far from mutually-exclusive practices.

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: Doesn't strict adherence to any judicial doctrine by definition preclude consideration of any argument that doesn't fall within the parameters of that doctrine's reasoning, though?

C-SPAN: If I may?

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: Yes.

C-SPAN: So, this has turned into a somewhat contentious argument...

JUSTICE MULREADY: Oh, not at all.

C-SPAN: Excuse me?

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: This is actually a fairly typical Wednesday afternoon for us.

JUSTICE MULREADY: By now, I worry that she's angry with me if we _don't_ bother to engage each other like this at least once a week.

C-SPAN: Oh.

JUSTICE MULREADY: You seem surprised.

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: Bear in mind, Chris, not everyone finds single combat as exhilarating as you do.

JUSTICE MULREADY: Fair enough, I suppose.

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: But I'm sorry, you were saying...?

C-SPAN: Well, what I was going to ask concerns the tone of civil discourse in modern America. Increasingly, it seems like Americans are talking past each other on issues, rather than actually engaging one another. We can probably blame the polarization and specialization of news media; we can probably blame the growing urban-rural divides in wealth and mobility; we can probably blame ideological feedback loops from social media. So my question is, do you foresee the Court moving in a similar direction, in the near future?

JUSTICE MULREADY: Well... do you mind?

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: Not at all.

JUSTICE MULREADY: I'll start out by saying that I don't see the Court moving in that direction, at all. There's been a fair amount of press lately concerning outlets that peddle conspiracy theories and "fake news," and that's clearly a tremendous problem, because how can Americans engage each other on issues when they're working off of two completely separate sets of facts?

Now, on a purely glib level, I can promise that that will never be a problem for an appellate-level court like ours, because fact-finding is the domain of trial courts; we merely pick apart the constitutional matters pertaining to cases whose facts have already been established at previous stages of litigation. But on a more serious level, I'd point out that we're an institution whose entire purpose is to test the soundness of ideas. You've got nine very thoughtful, very intelligent people, who respect each other immensely, all placed in a room with one another and given a problem to solve. Will there be disagreements? Of course. But, to push back against your earlier claim, Evie, I think we all are open-minded enough to be receptive to each other's ideas, even if we ultimately don't adopt them. And that sort of deliberate and thorough consideration of ideas is what I feel is getting lost in conversations between people nowadays, when the impulse is really to edge towards our ideological political corners and block out any contrary voices.

C-SPAN: Chief Justice Lang, would you like to add to that?

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: Well, Chris has just answered the first part of your question in the most eloquent terms imaginable, but I'll expand upon it a little. I think it's a well-known fact to Court-watchers that we – Justice Mulready and myself – enjoy attending the symphony and the opera together, so I'm going to take the liberty of making a musical analogy.

JUSTICE MULREADY: Which is appropriate, since of the two of us, she's the only one who can carry a tune.

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: You always make a valiant effort, I'll give you credit for that.

JUSTICE MULREADY: Thank you very much.

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: I've sung alto in various choirs for most of my life, and what I love about that experience is that you really learn to _listen_ to the parts around you. It's the only way to stay on track, to be honest; you can know your part backwards and forwards in isolation, but the electrifying thing about being part of a choir is the challenge and the thrill of balancing your voice with others. And when your job is to provide harmony, you need to be all the more aware of how your part is balancing against the melody. You have to constantly be asking yourself, Am I too loud? Am I too soft? Does that note need to tune just a little higher for this particular chord? How much do I want to lean into this dissonance? You need to sing your own part with absolute confidence, but at the same time, you need to check in with the other parts constantly, to make sure that your part is contributing positively to the overall objective of creating excellent music.

So that's more or less how I view our roles on the Court. We all have our individual voices on the bench, and we all try to make those voices as strong and distinctive as possible, but all nine of us know that our obligation is first and foremost to express and explore a single set of ideas as clearly and as brilliantly as we can. And that means that we're constantly listening to each other, making sure that we're staying more or less together, joining each other's parts where appropriate, and never shying away from moments of dissonance. I firmly believe that dissonance – those points of musical tension, and their almost-inevitable resolutions back into consonance – is what makes music worth listening to.

JUSTICE MULREADY: Now you're being overly generous towards me.

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: Don't take too much credit, now – you're not the only one on the Court capable of writing an extraordinary dissent. In short, like Justice Mulready, I don't believe that the Court is in danger of becoming as bitterly divided as so many other parts of society are. We're too well-adjusted an ensemble by now, and even if we don't agree on the particulars, we're all deeply committed to a common goal.

C-SPAN: And do you think that the example that you set can be adopted by the rest of the country?

JUSTICE MULREADY: Do enough people know who we are and what we do?

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: You're just champing at the bit to get into a cameras-in-the-courtroom debate, aren't you?

JUSTICE MULREADY: I'll refrain, for once. Look, I like to believe that the rest of society could have the patience and goodwill to sit down and have rational conversations about important issues, the way that we do. I think we're facing a moment where factionalism makes it very difficult for people to even want to reach out to those across the proverbial aisle, which is probably the biggest problem we face as a nation. But if people have the will to overcome this us-versus-them mentality, I think that plenty of Americans are intellectually capable of listening to each other and trying to understand each other's ideas, the way we do.

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: Although, of course, unlike most Americans, we're obligated by our profession to engage in such discussions, and advised by dint of our life tenures to be civil about it...

JUSTICE MULREADY: I'll also refrain from saying anything about Congress right now that I might regret later.

C-SPAN: Madam Chief Justice?

CHIEF JUSTICE LANG: I'll join my colleague's opinion on this. I don't know if the rest of the country is temperamentally ready to make the effort to listen to each other that Justice Mulready described, and I don't know what it will take to make them ready. But, if and when they reach that point, we'll still be right here, doing our best to exemplify that sort of thoughtful, respectful debate. With any luck, the American public might even learn from us that it's possible to disagree with someone very strongly, and yet still think the world of him.

JUSTICE MULREADY: Or of her.

C-SPAN: Well, thank you so much for taking the time out of your busy schedules, and best of luck with everything.

 _[End transcript.]_

* * *

Author's Note: There are really too many borrowed ideas or quotes to cite in the above, so I'll be very brief. The arguments in the marriage equality case discussed are mostly stolen from _Obergefell v. Hodges_ (2015), the actual case that legalized same-sex marriage across the United States. Most of the points about originalism are taken from sundry speeches or writings by Justice Antonin Scalia. And the notion of open-mindedness being the most logical standard for a judge is extrapolated from a speech given by Justice Stephen Breyer during the 2017 American Constitution Society convention last month. (The rest, I'll leave you to look up for yourselves.)

All that said, thank you all for joining me and Evie and Chris on this journey. They've become such a vibrant part of my creative life these past months, and I will miss them greatly, even though I now feel that I've written everything of meaning that I have to write about them, and so should stop while I'm ahead. (I'll happily leave it to other writers to flesh out everything else, including the slow burn romantic fic that I suspect some people still want me to write, but which I also suspect would be best written by someone other than myself.) I'm eternally grateful for all of the kind feedback that so many of you have given me over the past half-year as I've worked my way through the last decade or so of big Supreme Court cases, and I'm so glad that at least some of you feel that you've learned as much about constitutional law by reading as I have by researching and writing. To my American readers, a very Happy Fourth, and to all of my readers, thank you for making the creation of this series the extremely enjoyable process that it's been.


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